


Mindless

by a_random_parsnip



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Angst, Assassination, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Blood and Gore, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, But it gets better I swear, Cliche, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Epic, Everyone Is Gay, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hwang Hyunjin is Whipped, Hwang Hyunjin is a Sweetheart, HyunSeungIN, I’m such a sucker for these kinds of aus, Jeongin is also a baDASS, Killing, Language, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Seungmin is a badass, They All Gay, Tsunderes, Weapons, Y'ALL READY FOR SOME EPIC FIGHT SCENES AND STUFF???, Yang Jeongin | I.N is a Sweetheart, Yang Jeongin | I.N-centric, and internal conflicts I love those, ateez are skz’s aliases, but there's fluff too, chan is a loner (sorry chan), doc jinyoung!, emotional cONSTIPATIONS LETS GOOOOO, emotional stability is a myth, hyunjin becomes whipped for jeongin so quickly, jeongin is a hitman, jilix, minbin, oh my gosh yall ready for some EPIC character arcs?, only jilix and hyunjin have their shit together, other idol cameos, seungmin is gonna be really cold in the beginning whoops, the first chapter is kind of shit ngl, there's gonna be some epic fight scenes, these tags have no semblance of order, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_random_parsnip/pseuds/a_random_parsnip
Summary: Jeongin only knows how to kill. It keeps his life together; the hunt, chase, and the final killing blow the only constants in his life. He's learned to shut off his emotions, learned how to slam a stoic mask down over his face when he starts to feel anything resembling empathy for his victims.Then he's hired to kill Kim Seungmin.And his life changes.Or the one where a certain Kim Seungmin and Hwang Hyunjin help Jeongin realize that maybe life can be so much more than what he has.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Kim Seungmin/Yang Jeongin | I.N, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 60
Kudos: 121





	1. Another Day, Another Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeongin explains his dislike of jewelry in depth and with some deep analysis. Oh, and also he's hired to kill a certain Kim Seungmin o-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyy, and I'm back with another fic! I am an absolute sucker for gang/assassin/mafia aus, so I decided to write one of my own lol.
> 
> The rating is for violence only. I'm an innocent being, no smut here :)
> 
> Also I have literally no update schedule for this yet. Maybe I'll update regularly, maybe I won't. I'll just write this whenever I feel like it. Writing is my way of destressing and I don't want to pressure myself :))))
> 
> Anywho, I'll let you get into it then! See you at the end!

“The target’s name is Kim Seungmin.” The man sitting across from him slides a manila folder across the dark mahogany table with one finger. 

Jeongin accepts the file stoically, keeping a blank expression on his face as he flips it open, noting how  _ little _ there is on ‘Kim Seungmin’. The file only contains a few documents, some sparse notes on Kim Seungmin’s past, and… a photo. 

Jeongin raises an eyebrow, flicking his gaze back up to the man sitting across from him with one leg thrown casually over the other. Bang Chan is young, maybe only a few years older than him. He’s dressed in a formal business suit, all crisp, clean, sharp edges and pleated folds. A small diamond stud twinkles in his right ear, a small sign of wealth; a power move in a sense. 

Jeongin hates jewelry for that reason. Precious jewels are only  _ precious _ because society has placed them as a sign of the rich, each sparkling stone only a means to flaunt one’s social standing above another. He likes to rate each of his clients based on how many senseless jewels they wear, judges how secure they seem to be of their standing with how many gems they enjoy draping themselves in. 

Bang Chan interests him; that diamond stud is the only accessory that he wears. No bejeweled rings adorn his fingers, no small flashes of light indicate bracelets hidden under his sleeves. Jeongin’s research seems to indicate that Bang Chan is moderately well off, having ascended in society’s ranks rather quickly. Most likely that was attributed to a few slit throats in the middle of the night, whispered words here and there, and betrayal to people that were once close to him. Is the stud purely for sentimental purposes? Is it to flaunt that he’s not interested in petty accessories like others of his standing? Is it merely a habit to wear it, something that he’s been doing since he was young?

Bang Chan shifts in his seat, momentarily interrupting Jeongin’s analysis by clearing his throat quietly. Jeongin then notices that he’s been staring at the other man for quite some time, too engrossed in his thoughts. Flicking his eyes back to steadily meet Bang Chan’s piercing blue ones, he quirks his eyebrow again and places one carefully gloved finger on the photograph in the file in front of him. 

“He’s young.” Jeongin states flatly, watching Bang Chan’s gaze flit down to the photograph then up to meet Jeongin’s again. 

“So are you.” Bang Chan’s response is cool, flat, emotionless, but somehow carries a light note of curiosity to it. 

Jeongin doesn’t visibly bristle at this; he’s had much experience hiding what he truly feels behind a calm, unflappable mask and steely eyes. Someone had told him a long time ago that his eyes were cute, like a fennec fox’s; he remembers scrunching them up in a happy smile as warm laughter bubbled out of his throat unbidden, someone enveloping him in a comforting embrace. 

A different time. 

“And you.” He returns evenly, tapping the photograph in front of him with his finger resting on it. 

Bang Chan leans forward, steepling his fingers in front of him and resting his elbows on the smooth finish of the table. “I trust that neither your nor his age will be a problem? I was under the assumption that you were an experienced assassin with a no questions asked and no questions answered policy.” 

“I am who you say I am. It was merely an observation.” Jeongin meets Bang Chan’s gaze, cocking his head to the side a bit and hardening his eyes at the slight tone of disapproval,  _ hesitance _ in the other’s voice. 

Silence falls then, both men maintaining steady eye contact across the table. It’s only broken when one of Bang Chan’s bodyguards shuffles, causing Jeongin’s eyes to flick over to track that movement, one of his muscles in his wrist twitching, begging to release one of the small knives hidden in his sleeve. 

Bang Chan takes the opportunity to speak up and reaches across the table to flip the file closed. A slight scent of pine wafts over Jeongin, making his nose twitch ever so slightly. 

“You have two months. I will give you the rest of your payment when you return to me bearing evidence of his death.” Jeongin nods, using one gloved hand to sweep up the file. He stands then, noticing the small shift in the atmosphere as both of Bang Chan’s bodyguards subtly inch their fingers towards their waists, reaching for concealed weapons if Jeongin were to suddenly attack. He gives them a close lipped smile. They’d be dead even before Jeongin would see the cool glint off the muzzle of a gun pointed at him. 

Bang Chan rises too, silently brushing off his lap and inclining his head in the direction of the door. Jeongin gives him a nod and moves towards the exit. Before he reaches the doorframe, he spins around on his heels, giving Bang Chan one last smile. He notes with amusement that both of his bodyguards have fingers visibly twitching for their guns under their jackets. 

“Do you have a preferred method of death?” Jeongin asks lightly, one gloved hand resting on the door handle. 

“Make it quick, clean, and be out before anyone can spot you.”

Jeongin smiles and slips out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you guys think? Don't worry, Jeongin will have a character arc. He's a real sweetie, I just gave him a heck of a troubled past and emotional constipation lol
> 
> Stay tuned for next chapter! Stuff goes doooowwwwwnnn
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this! Feel free to scream at me in the comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	2. Go-time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeongin realizes that he's in way too fucking deep and Chan does not give a single fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again dear readers! This chapter is longer and has a lot of drama and action happening, so buckle up those seatbelts and lET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> TW: Blood and violence (an asterix (*) at the start of the paragraph will indicate a trigger warning)
> 
> Anywhoooooo, I'll let you get into it then! See you at the end! :D
> 
> *spongebob transition* tHrEe wEeKs lAtEr...

Jeongin doesn’t understand why Bang Chan wants Kim Seungmin dead. 

For the past three weeks, he’s been studying Kim Seungmin, memorizing his daily routine, keeping track of who he interacts with, listening in on snippets of conversation between him and others, and keeping track of who goes in and out of his apartment building. 

Jeongin sits at his apartment window with a book in his hands. He idly flips the pages from time to time, but his attention is solely devoted to the building across the street from him where Seungmin lives. Seungmin had gone inside approximately a half hour ago after he had come back from work. From watching him and carefully trailing him over the past few weeks, Jeongin has learned that Seungmin works a 9 to 5 shift at the local library. He comes home at approximately 5:36 every day after stopping at a local convenience store to presumably pick up dinner and other essentials. He doesn’t hang out with friends on the weekends, only taking a routine 12 to 2 shopping trip every Saturday for groceries. 

Kim Seungmin seems like a nice, respectable man. He’s got a nice life, and he seems friendly enough, if the snippets of conversation Jeongin has heard between him and cashiers are anything to go by. He wears round, wire rimmed glasses paired with oversized fluffy sweaters for crying out loud. 

Why does Bang Chan want this man dead? Seungmin isn’t a corrupt politician or businessman - he’s a _librarian._ What does Bang Chan have to gain from this man’s death? 

But that’s something that Jeongin doesn’t need to know. He shouldn’t care. 

_Trail the target, learn their routine, then slip in and do the job. Do not think of the target as human. Do not let yourself feel empathy or sympathy. Emotions will only hinder your ability to work._

Jeongin flips another page in his book, noting the return of another resident to Kim Seungmin’s apartment building. Right on time. 

If all goes well, he should have the job done by tomorrow. He has chosen tonight, a Friday night, to do the job. No one will look for Seungmin until at least Wednesday next week, when someone from his job will try and contact him for slacking off. Jeongin can collect his pay early from Bang Chan and scurry back to one of his safe houses in Seoul to await his next client. 

Then he’ll kill again. 

Collect his pay. 

Wait for the next client. 

Collect his pay. 

And the next.

And the next. 

Two more residents enter the building and one comes out. Jeongin flips through more pages in his book, eyes still fixed on the building outside his window. A woman jogging with her dog passes by on the street. 

The lights of Kim Seungmin’s second story room flicker on somewhere close to 7:30pm, right on schedule. The sun has begun to sink low in the horizon, illuminating the tops of buildings with a strong orange glow, leaving the streets in cool shadow. Jeongin stands, abandoning his post by the window to turn on his own lights and to stretch his legs. 

He makes his way to the tiny, beat up kitchen with a smile, cracking his knuckles as he plops himself in front of his computer on the countertop. 

Time to get a-hacking. 

Two hours later finds Jeongin still at the kitchen counter, eyes darting across his screen as he processes and rewrites lines of code. 

Kim Seungmin’s apartment has some security, pretty much the standard encryption stuff that everybody has nowadays. It’s almost child’s play for Jeongin to hack into it, disabling the alarm systems and recording looped tracks for the security cameras. It takes a bit more work to hack into the database to find Kim Seungmin’s key code for his apartment, but nothing gives him trouble and everything goes smoothly. 

Very smoothly. 

Jeongin leans back from the computer screen with a sigh, wincing as his back and the joints in his shoulders crack from having been in one position too long. 

He glances at the time in the corner of his screen. 10:27. He’s got about three hours left before go-time. 

Jeongin’s stomach growls then, reminding him that his instant ramyeon has been sitting in the microwave for a few hours now, the noodles probably cold and bloated from having been sitting for so long. _Kind of like drowning victims_ , Jeongin’s brain helpfully supplies as he splits apart wooden chopsticks to eat. 

After his dinner, Jeongin starts his preparation. From the suitcase under his bed, he pulls out his collection of knives, strapping them to their familiar places on his body. He tests the spring mechanism of his wrist sheath a few times before pulling on a black jacket over it, tugging the fabric down over the cool glint of steel. He clips a small disposable camera to his side, shoving it halfway into one of his pants pockets so it won’t swing around and make noise or annoy him. A small zip lock bag goes into his other pocket for collecting a lock of Seungmin’s hair along with a bit of his blood for hard evidence. Bang Chan wants evidence of Kim Seungmin’s death, and Jeongin intends to deliver. Lastly is a small black tracfone, programmed with only one number in its contacts that he’s supposed to call when he finishes the job. He slips it in the pocket with the zip lock. 

Jeongin double checks his tools, then triple checks them before zipping the suitcase closed and shoving it back under the bed. He checks the time again. 12:14. 

Go-time. 

Jeongin slips out of his apartment soundlessly, hands shoved in his pockets as he blends in with the shadows. It’s a moonless night, the only light coming from a few sputtering street lamps scattered along the street. 

For some reason, Jeongin’s always liked the shadows better than the light. They hide him, whisper to him, envelop him in a comforting cloak of darkness, giving him the illusion that he can disappear from reality without a trace if he so desires. They take the place of friends in Jeongin’s life. People come and go, trust and betray, but the shadows are always a steady presence. They have never betrayed him, only welcome him with soft, velvety tendrils of darkness. 

Jeongin silently pads across the street in the darkest spot between two streetlights. He reaches the door of Seungmin’s apartment building, fingers brushing over the trigger of his wrist sheath habitually before he slips inside. 

Nobody bothers him, nobody stops him as he silently ascends the stairs, each step taking him closer and closer to Seungmin and another job well done. 

Then he will go back and wait for the next job. And the next. 

He reaches Seungmin’s door, room 0325. A small placard under the door number displays Kim Seungmin’s name in faded letters on paper in a plastic covering. Jeongin silently enters the passcode on the door handle keypad, 4419, and slips inside. 

He’s memorized the floor plans of the entire building complex, so he knows exactly where to go once he enters Kim Seungmin’s apartment. A small light blue nightlight by the hallway that Jeongin knows leads to Seungmin’s bedroom gives off a slight glow, illuminating a miraculously neat and tidy apartment. The small kitchen is pristine, no dishes in the sink and no stains on the counters. A small potted plant resides by the window sill, half of if slightly covered by billowy curtains that muffle the night sounds of the small city outside. 

Jeongin slides a knife out from his thigh sheath as he makes his way over to Seungmin’s bedroom, silent as the night itself, as if he were merely a passing shadow moving steadily along the hardwood floors. 

He takes a few deep breaths, shoving any emotions, any feelings at all deep, deep inside of him. They will only distract. 

_Get in. Slit his throat. Get out. Call Bang Chan. Pack up. Go back to Seoul._

Seungmin’s bedroom door creaks open for him silently. 

Jeongin is once again struck by how _clean_ Seungmin keeps his place. No dirty clothes lie strewn about the floor; the laundry basket isn’t even in sight. A few personal effects line the dresser and the nightstand, all perfectly orderly, picture frames lined up neatly next to each other. Another potted plant is seated in the corner of the nightstand, leaves curled tentatively upwards in search of light in the darkness. 

Seungmin’s bed is pushed up against one wall opposite a window in the corner. A human-shaped lump covered in a blanket lies on its side facing the wall, and Jeongin notes with relief that the outline of it rises and falls gently with each breath that Seungmin takes. He’s asleep. 

Jeongin squeezes the handle of his knife in his hand, glancing down at it to take a bit of comfort in how the slight light filtering in from the window reflects off the blade. He moves forward, silent with deadly intent. 

He reaches the bed and stops. 

_I’m sorry, Kim Seungmin._

He reaches out to roll the lump over, preparing to watch Kim Seungmin’s pretty (wait, pretty?) brown eyes open wide in surprise, then fill with fear, and utter helplessness as Jeongin claps a gloved hand over his mouth to muffle his screams as he drags a knife across his throat-

The person in the bed isn’t Kim Seungmin. 

_The person in the bed isn’t Kim Seungmin_. 

Jeongin freezes, staring into the stranger’s very-much awake eyes, noting how they’re wide open and filled with fear, how the person’s body shakes with barely controlled tremors as his eyes flick over to the knife held in Jeongin’s hand. 

He’s kind of cute. 

Now is not the fucking time to be noticing that because-

_The person in the bed isn’t Kim Seungmin._

_So where the fuck-_

A sharp pain in his wrist. The clatter of his knife as it falls to the floor. 

“Make one fucking move and I will slit your throat and let you bleed out on the floor as I watch.” 

Every single muscle in Jeongin’s body freezes at the voice speaking directly into his left ear. He swallows, now very much aware of a knife at his throat, the cold steel digging uncomfortably into the skin right above his jugular. His heart stops for one hollow, missed beat, then starts hammering away, his pulse roaring in his ears as adrenaline, pure liquified _fear_ races through his veins. 

The person in the bed isn’t Kim Seungmin. But Jeongin would bet every single damn penny he has to his name and his life that the person currently holding a knife to his throat is. 

Jeongin’s gaze zeroes in on the person, the _boy_ , in the bed as he suddenly scrambles backwards against the wall, clutching something tightly in a two-handed grip. It’s a small switchblade, Jeongin realizes at the same time that he realizes that the knife at his throat has drawn a small drop of blood that runs down the column of his neck. The boy looks up at him with so much fear in his eyes, his entire body trembling with trepidation. He’s perhaps maybe his age, maybe a bit older. He’s also very, very, very cute and Jeongin’s brain whirls around, trying to focus on anything but the stranger’s looks. 

It’s then that Jeongin’s mind decides to go into survival mode. Forget killing Kim Seungmin, he just wants to get out of this damn room _alive._

The boy on the bed is not a threat. His grip on the knife will hurt more than help him if he actually tries to use it, never mind the fact that he’s probably paralyzed with fear and can’t move even if he tries to. 

The person at his back however, _Kim Seungmin,_ is definitely a threat. 

The knife digs into Jeongin’s skin harshly, almost making him flinch from the pain. But he doesn’t. Pain is easy to ignore. 

“Who sent you?” The voice at his ear growls, the knife cutting further into his skin at the speaker’s words. 

Jeongin doesn’t dare swallow in case the knife cuts further, instead opting to dart his tongue out to lick his lips. He blinks in the darkness, letting out a small breath. 

He can’t divest Bang Chan’s name. He's signed a contract, and privacy is something that all of his clients value more than anything else. They don’t want to be associated with the murders, all the assassinations that Jeongin carries out for them so they won’t get their pretty little hands dirty. He can’t- 

Jeongin’s eyes zero back in on the boy on the bed as he gasps, lowering the switchblade a little. “Minnie, he’s so _young.”_

Jeongin feels Seungmin draw in a sharp inhale. The knife at his throat wavers a little, and that’s all that Jeongin needs. 

He takes an elbow and drives it behind him with all of the force that he can muster, registering the sharp exhale of air when it hits home, and the damn knife is dropped from his neck. 

Jeongin flicks his wrist, a finger slamming down on the trigger button on his wrist sheath, and a small knife lands comfortably in his hands as he violently twists himself away from Seungmin, lashing out with the knife to put some distance between them. He lands, not even taking half a second to readjust before he’s darting forwards, slashing at Seungmin. 

It’s obvious that Seungmin knows what he’s doing. Even if the way that he had disarmed and held Jeongin at knifepoint earlier wasn’t enough, Seungmin moves with alarming but graceful _fluidity_ as he successfully blocks and parries every one of Jeongin’s swipes. 

Seungmin looks very much like his photo from his file. Chestnut brown hair, deep brown eyes innocently wide and unassuming, wire glasses with thick lenses, a small button-like nose, and a perfectly defined Cupid’s-bow on his upper lip. _He’s like a dog, or a puppy_ , Jeongin’s brain unhelpfully supplies him. 

Jeongin jumps back as Seungmin suddenly lashes out, hissing as his knife cuts _deep_ into the flesh of his upper right arm, barely missing bone. He deftly switches his knife to his left hand, not trusting the muscles in his right any longer not to twitch and sporadically fail from the pain. 

Blood drips onto the floor, pooling in puddles of darkness indistinguishable from the indistinct shadows of the room.

Jeongin goes on the defensive as Seungmin lashes out again, just barely blocking one of his swipes. He skitters back a step, one hand coming down to push off of the bedpost a little to help regain his balance. 

_Shit, he’s fast-_

Seungmin’s knife slices into Jeongin’s cheek, narrowly missing his eye. Sharp, burning _pain_ erupts in its wake, and Jeongin’s vision flashes black for a split second before rebounding with vivid alacrity. The cut’s shallow, but Jeongin feels even _more_ adrenaline shoot through his body, feels as if somebody’s dumped a bucket of ice water on his head _because he almost lost his fucking eye-_

Jeongin scores a deep cut on Seungmin’s arm, but the victory is short lived as something akin to the _fires burning in the pits of Hell_ flashes in Seungmin’s eyes and he lunges forwards, Jeongin only barely managing to block his blade from lodging itself in between his ribs. 

Jeongin kicks up with his knee, hearing a grunt of pain as Seungmin backs off a few steps, his eyes watering. Call it a dirty move, but Jeongin wants to get out of this _alive,_ dammit. 

Regaining his balance, Jeongin wildly flits his gaze around the room again. Window. Door. Exits. Seungmin is blocking the door. Window it is then. 

Then Seungmin is back at him again, swiping with his knife with renewed fire as he makes Jeongin back up a couple of steps until he’s almost tripping over the edge of the bed-

_The bed._

Jeongin brings his injured right arm back and punches Seungmin squarely in the chest through a gap in his defense. In the half-second of time that he buys he turns around to face the boy on the bed, mouth bared in a feral grimace as he lunges forwards. 

_Minnie._ He had called Seungmin ‘Minnie’ before. Nicknames mean endearment. Seungmin cares about this person. And maybe Jeongin can use that to his advantage-

Seungmin lunges in front of Jeongin with a wild hiss, fear, protectiveness, and _fire_ burning in his eyes as he swings at Jeongin. 

“ _Get the fuck away from him!_ ” 

It’s the first thing that either of them has said in the fight. Seungmin has positioned himself directly between him and the boy on the bed, brandishing his knife threateningly before him. He makes no move to attack, instead watching Jeongin warily as his gaze flits between the two. 

Interesting. 

But Seungmin has left the window open. Jeongin lunges forwards once to get Seungmin off balance, then he’s dashing for the window, covering his head with his hands as he bursts through the glass. The crash and resulting tinkling shattering sounds of the broken glass pierce the night as Jeongin falls, barely managing to execute a forward flip to slow his momentum before he lands heavily on his feet. 

Something _snaps._

Jeongin bites his lip hard to avoid screaming. 

Pain can wait. It can be ignored. He’s going to fucking _die_ if he can’t ignore it. 

So Jeongin starts to sprint off into the darkness, ignoring the pain in his right ankle _screaming_ at him as he melds with the shadows once again. 

It’s a full hour later when he returns to his apartment from his loop around the city, hoping that he’s thrown Seungmin off his trail. He’s not sure if the other has even followed him, but he’s better off safe than sorry. 

The walk up the steps is tortuous, and Jeongin bites back a curse as the pain in his ankle flares with every movement. The adrenaline running through his veins is the only thing keeping him upright right now, and Jeongin is certain that he’ll pass out once it wears off. 

But first he needs to tend to his wounds. And make a phone call. 

He barely manages to unlock the door to his apartment, immediately limping over to his bed and sitting down heavily to take his weight off his injured foot. 

The pain comes in then, feeling like waves of fire in his ankle as Jeongin flutters his hands around it. 

His shoe needs to come off. 

_This is gonna hurt like a bitch-_

_FUCK._

* His shoe comes off, albeit with an almost unbearable amount of pain, and Jeongin blinks his eyes rapidly as his vision turns black for a worrying few seconds. He sits for a minute before daring to move again. His sock is easier to peel off, although Jeongin becomes legitimately concerned when he notices that it’s soaked in blood. 

* Then he notices the white shard of bone sticking out in the red mess, notices how _unnaturally_ twisted his ankle is. 

Jeongin’s mind goes blank. 

He numbly reaches for the small black tracfone in his pocket, speed dialing the only number in its contacts. 

Five minutes. That’s how long he estimates he has before he passes out from pain and exhaustion. 

The phone picks up on the first ring. 

“Is it done?”

“ _Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that Kim Seungmin is an assassin too?”_ Jeongin barely manages to restrain himself from screaming into the phone. Rage floods through him, tinting his vision red as he channels all his pain and frustration in his invective. 

There’s silence on the other line. A sigh. Then, “It wasn’t information vital to your mission-”

“Oh, it _wasn’t_ ??? Why the _fuck_ did you think that me not knowing that I’m going after a trained killer wouldn’t be _vital_ to my mission?” Jeongin seethes. He wants to yeet Bang Chan into a meat grinder and watch him experience the pain of it slowly rending the limbs from his body. 

“There are certain rules of _privacy_ that I must follow. If you were to fail and he were to figure out who sent you, he’d know that I told you about his previous jobs. Therefore he would come after me. Speaking of, is Kim Seungmin dead?”

“No, he is very much fucking alive, however I will most likely be dead by afternoon tomorrow from a combination of shock, blood loss, and perhaps brain swelling from a concussion.” Jeongin hates admitting that he’s weak. However, he knows that he’s a valuable investment to Bang Chan. The other may not personally care whether he lives or dies, but above all he wants Kim Seungmin dead. Considering how much he has paid Jeongin already, he’ll want him alive to finish the job. Plus, he now knows that Jeongin has a personal feud with Seungmin, which will aid in the speed and efficiency of his death. It’s a very likely chance that Bang Chan will send somebody to make sure he doesn’t die.

“Should I care?”

“Yes.”

“I really don’t. You’re expendable, ju- *** ** ****” Jeongin blinks rapidly to keep himself conscious, fighting the blackness surging forwards in waves. 

“** huh?” Jeongin manages to get out, his tongue feeling strangely heavy in his mouth, then darkness sweeps across his vision, insistent and strong, and the tracfone is falling from his hand, the soft mattress of the bed coming up to meet him at an alarming rate. 

He welcomes the shadows. They take away his pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehhehe
> 
> So... Seungmin is also another trained assassin? Oop the drama is picking up. Also I am so soft for Seungmin in round glasses and fluffy sweaters ^-^ 
> 
> My notes are so disorganized and chatotic heehee
> 
> Fun fact: I interviewed my friend (and beta reader!) about when she broke her ankle to know the levels of pain and how long Jeongin will have to hobble around on crutches for. Broken ankles aren't fun :(
> 
> Anywho, I'm busting out this fic rather quickly right now; the next update might be this week, it might not. *shrugs* I dunno lol. Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and kudos are always appreciated! Until next time! :D


	3. wEeWoO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Minho and Changbin go weewooweeewooo and rush Jeongin to the hospital.
> 
> Or the one where Changbin unloads all of his mental trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, wow I really can't come up with chapter titles. 
> 
> Secondly, HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO CHANGBIN! He's such an amazing person, and I love and adore him so much <333 Stays, let's shower him with love and support today!
> 
> Okay and also I have legit no plan at all for this fic, so I'm just writing it down as it comes to me, so I may have given Changbin more emotional trauma than necessary but we all love a good tragic backstory, right? :)))))
> 
> TW: descriptions of blood, small panic attack (an asterix (*) at the start of the paragraph will indicate a trigger warning)
> 
> Okay, I'll let you get reading, and I'll see you at the end, dear readers! :D

“Got it, Boss.” Minho flips the phone closed, sighing and swiping a stray lock of orange hair out of his eyes. He flops down heavily on the couch, flicking his gaze around the small, dingy apartment in search of his boyfriend. 

“Binnie?” he calls out tiredly, rubbing at the bags under his eyes and stifling a yawn. Then he winces as a loud crash echoes through the apartment. 

“...yeah?” Changbin’s voice comes hesitantly from the kitchen. Minho squints his eyes suspiciously in the direction of his voice.

A few more crashes ensue, then Changbin peeks his head around the corner, a sheepish grin on his face and… flour in his hair?

Minho sighs. “Binnie, what did you do this time?”

“It’s not my fault that I’m vertically challenged.” Changbin comes around the corner to plop down on the couch next to Minho. Minho raises an eyebrow at the other’s state; flour clings to his usual dark attire, creating sizable white splotches on his ripped skinny jeans and jacket hoodie. 

“Is the kitchen okay?” Changbin huffs at this, putting on a small pout, crossing his arms, and turning away from Minho. 

“The kitchen’s fine. _I’m_ okay too.” Minho chuckles at Changbin’s whiny response, dragging the other to his chest by looping his arms around his waist. He presses a kiss on top of the other’s head, basking in the peaceful silence that he knows he’ll have to break soon. 

“As much as I’d love to see your adorable face covered in flour and cuddle with you for the next hour or so, poor I.N. next door is probably going to die within the next few hours.” 

“What?” Changbin jerks his head around, accidentally hitting Minho’s chin with the top of his head. A flash of _some_ kind of emotion flickers in his eyes, making Minho frown a little. 

“Relax Binnie, he’s just passed out right now. Chan-hyung says that we can’t let him die though. So we should probably go over and check on him.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” Changbin agrees, although Minho furrows his eyebrows at how _off_ his tone seems to be. Changbin’s hiding something. 

“I mean, we don’t _have_ to go over immediately, he’s just passed out. With a mild concussion and major blood loss. He can survive for another hour or so.” Minho grins down at Changbin in his arms, closing his eyes and pursing his lips in an exaggerated kissing gesture at the other. Changbin snorts, poking his lips with one finger. Minho squints open one eye, whining at the rejection. 

Changbin stands up, trying his best to brush off some of the flour on his pants. He offers a hand down to help Minho up, a small grin flashing across his face when he takes it. 

“We should probably check on him though. Chan-hyung might actually kill us if he dies.”

Minho nods and slings an arm around Changbin’s shoulders as they head off in search of weapons and other essentials, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is _off_ with Changbin. Something’s been off with him ever since they were sent by Chan to keep tabs on I.N. Could I.N. be someone from his boyfriend’s past? Or is Changbin just hesitant due to I.N.’s reputation? The young assassin is known for his quick, clean, and merciless kills. He’s good at what he does, and he takes on a _lot_ of jobs. His body count is probably higher than Changbin’s. 

Has I.N. hurt Changbin in the past?

_If he has, I’ll fucking kill him._

“Minnie?” Changbin’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, alerting him to the fact that he’s been staring at the sleek, polished handle of his handgun for the past minute. 

“Huh?” Minho resumes his normal routine, making sure his clip is full before flipping the safety on, spinning the gun around in a flashy move and shoving it into its place in his work belt. He glances over at Changbin, currently strapping on his wrist sheath. 

“You okay?” Changbin pauses to look up at his boyfriend, worry flashing through his eyes. Minho chuckles a bit. 

“I should be asking you that question.” Minho says. It’s very blunt, but Minho is a blunt person. Changbin fiddles with his wrist sheath for a second longer then sighs, his shoulders sagging as he meets Minho’s gaze steadily. 

“Before we go in, I think you should know something.” Minho nods. “Jeo- I.N. was sort of kind of my protegé.” Minho blinks. 

“ _What?”_ Taking a step closer to Changbin so he can rest a hand on the other’s shoulder, Minho stares at his boyfriend in shock. He’s not angry, just- “ _The_ I.N.???”

“Uh, yeah.” Changbin says with a small smile that Minho is pretty fucking sure isn’t appropriate in this situation when Changbin, his boyfriend of three years, has just told him that he’s trained one of Korea’s deadliest assassins. 

Minho blinks slowly. 

_Minho.exe is not responding._

“Okay, okay. Gimme a sec. Let's finish getting ready, and we’ll talk during the extraction.” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, his mind whirling at the revelation that Changbin has personal connections to I.N.

Changbin nods, going back to strapping on all of his different knives. Minho noticed that he’s omitting quite a lot of his usual arsenal though. Is it because he _trusts_ I.N.? Did they split on a good note? Does he trust I.N. not to hurt them?

Minho’s mind is a chaotic mess as he robotically finishes his preparation routine, double and triple checking that he has everything. Changbin is finished before him, watching him with a thoughtful expression as Minho pats the holster at his hip again. 

“Ready?” Changbin asks after Minho quadruple checks that he’s got his gun and some extra ammo clips. 

“Let’s.”

I.N.’s apartment is exactly one floor up and three rooms over from theirs. The door is open when they get there, so Changbin only glances at Minho for a second before they both slip inside. 

The apartment itself is void of any personal effects, anything really to prove that someone has been living in it for the past month. Pretty standard for an assassin. Everything is _clean_. No dishes or stains line the small kitchen’s countertop, no dishcloths or napkins lie strewn about to indicate the presence of life. No picture frames anywhere, no potted plants bloom in corners. 

It’s empty. 

Then Minho’s gaze catches onto Changbin frantically gesturing at a bed just barely hidden behind a corner of the small, cramped room. A flash of alarm goes through him as he notices something that he _somehow_ hadn’t managed to pick up earlier. 

* A rather obvious trail of smeared blood leads from the apartment doorway to the half-visible bed. The bright redness of the liquid seems so scream at Minho now; Minho doesn’t know how the fuck he had missed it upon entry.

Minho nods at Changbin, and the two of them approach the bed with caution. If I.N. is awake, he’ll probably follow a kill first, ask questions later policy, and Minho doesn’t know if even he and Changbin combined are enough to take _the_ I.N. on. If he’s unconscious, then they need to assess his wounds and try to prevent him from dying somehow. 

Easy, right?

Minho is quite literally sweating buckets as he moves closer to the bed. 

Changbin inhales sharply, and Minho is by his side in a flash, holding his handgun by his side defensively with a finger on the trigger. He keeps his thumb on the safety, only relaxing when Changbin shoots him an annoyed glare. Minho shoots him an annoyed glare right back; it’s not his fault that he’s protective of Changbin. Well, maybe it is. But he just can’t stand the thought of something happening to Changbin when he’s right beside him; he can’t live with himself if something happens and he has the power to prevent it. Minho decides to ignore the fact that Changbin has more experience killing than he does, and can best Minho in a fight nine out of ten times. 

Then Minho realizes that he’s beside the bed, and he follows Changbin’s mute horrified gaze down to I.N. 

It’s the first time that he’s really seeing the assassin. I.N. doesn’t exactly broadcast his face, and nobody really knows what he looks like. His reputation speaks for itself; who cares about looks when you’ve got over two hundred kills to your name?

So Minho takes a step back in shock when he sees just how _young_ I.N. is. 

* He’s slumped sideways on the bed, blood covering his exposed skin and probably soaking his clothes, but the dark red stain blends right in with his black attire so Minho doesn’t know exactly how much blood is on him. Or exactly how much of it is his. I.N.’s black hair fans out across the red-splattered bedsheets, framing a face full of sharp edges that even further define his youth. He has a little button-like nose, and Minho is suddenly hit with a bizarre urge to boop it before he remembers why he’s here. 

Minho understands why Changbin had gasped upon seeing the other. 

His ankle. 

* The sick, white gleam of bone pokes out from the bloody mess that Minho is only half sure is Jeongin’s foot because of the _wrongness_ of how it’s bent. The skin has been violently shredded around the bone, and Minho can _see_ a vein pulsating inside his foot, oozing out blood in time with Jeongin’s slowed heartbeat. 

* Blood. There’s so much _blood_. It pools around I.N.’s feet, under the bed, and soaks into the small rug on the floor, turning it a muddy shade of brown from the addition of red to the sunshine yellow. 

Now Minho usually isn’t squeamish about injuries. He’s seen many, and he’s had many himself. He takes pride in the fact that blood cannot and will not ever faze him. But this… _there’s so much blood._

(*Adrenaline spikes in Minho’s veins as Changbin suddenly jerks forward beside him, his hand over his mouth as he hunches over. He reaches out to quickly steady the other, growing increasingly worried as the other stumbles, his legs not cooperating with him. Fear spikes through him as he hears Changbin start to breathe jaggedly, gasping for air. 

“Binnie? Shh, it’s okay, take some deep breaths. Breathe.” Minho hooks an arm around Changbin’s back, rubbing circles into his back as he guides Changbin to sit on the floor some distance away from the blood. 

I.N. can wait. Chan can go fuck himself if he dies. Minho needs to take care of Changbin first. So he stays kneeling on the floor beside Changbin, lightly stroking his hair and rubbing his back as the other tries to regain control of his breathing. Eventually, Changbin’s jagged breaths even out and Minho meets his eyes as the other looks up. He shifts around a bit, positioning his body to block Changbin’s view of I.N. *)

“You okay?” Minho’s voice is soft, gentle. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…” Minho waits for him to continue. Changbin flicks his eyes down then back up, a faraway look in them as if he’s seeing something else. “The blood. It reminds me of when… I met him.”

Minho nods, cupping Changbin’s cheek in a hand. “You don’t have to tell me now. Let's just finish up and get out of here. I’ll go and assess his injuries if you’re not up to it.” He doesn’t miss the way that Changbin’s shoulders slump in relief. 

“Thank you, Min.” Changbin whispers as Minho draws back from him, scooping up his gun where he had lain it on the ground. Minho gives him a tender smile back.

Steeling himself, Minho turns back to the blood and I.N. Yeah, he’s more than a bit disturbed by the amount of blood and the _bone-_

But he’ll stomach it for Changbin’s sake. 

Minho averts his eyes from I.N.’s ankle when he reaches the bedside again. He needs to check his other injuries. 

* A smattering of small cuts draw violent red lines across I.N.’s rather fair skin. His upper right arm sports the worst offense; the slashed fabric there is quite visibly soaked in blood and Minho sucks in a quiet breath as he notes how the light of the room reflects sickly off of the viscous red liquid pooling in the chasm-like wound. 

So far he’s got a badly fractured ankle and a deep cut that’s going to need a hell of a lot of stitches. Minho really doesn’t envy him. 

* Minho bends down, mindful of the blood on the ground as he gets himself level with I.N.’s face. Then he sucks in another sharp inhale as he makes out a long red cut slashed cruelly down his face, just _barely_ missing his eye. The bastard’s lucky. 

Sighing, Minho leans back on his heels, eyes roaming over I.N.’s unconscious figure as he calls out for his boyfriend. “Changbinnie?”

“Yeah?” The reply is soft, quiet. 

“Um,” Minho sighs, looking down and pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s gonna need a doctor. I could stitch his wounds, but I really can’t do anything about his ankle. If he hadn’t completely fractured it, then run around with it and shredded his skin there, I could’ve maybe splinted it, but the idiot went off and did just that. Also I’m pretty sure he has a bad concussion, and he might die of brain swelling if we don’t get him to a hospital.” Minho sighs, conducting a little spin on his heels to face Changbin. His boyfriend is sitting with his knees curled to his chest, and he looks so small and vulnerable that Minho’s heart _aches._

“Okay.” Changbin’s response is a bit stronger than the last time he had spoken, his voice regaining some strength to it. He takes a deep breath, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling as if he were drowning and the ceiling tiles were a promise of light, a promise of oxygen and safety above him. “Just… give me a moment. I’ll be ready soon.” Minho nods. 

He’s learned over the years that Changbin has learned how to somehow able lock all of his emotions away when he truly wants to, not letting himself _feel_ anything in order to carry out a necessary task. His face and voice will go flat, his brain shifting to a strictly logical neurotic path. It scares Minho to no end. 

Minho rises to his feet as Changbin does, meeting his boyfriend’s gaze with a steely one of his own. 

“Okay. No ambulance. Too many questions. We have the car; you drive.” Minho nods at the plan, although he feels an ache pierce through him at the lack of any emotion in Changbin’s voice. It’s scary when Changbin goes into this mindset. 

“W-we have to move him.” Minho points out, wincing as his voice cracks. Changbin’s gaze flits over him, cool, thoughtful, before he makes his way over to the bed. 

“I’ll carry him on my back. Hide your weapons; if we’re stopped by anyone on the way out just say that we found him like this. Act distressed.” Changbin says, stepping into the pool of blood around the bed to squat next to the unconscious I.N. “Help me lift him.”

* Minho whips himself into action as Changbin finishes talking, standing up quickly to help Changbin gently lift the unconscious man on his back. Minho sharply inhales again as he watches I.N.’s foot shift at its sudden change in position, wincing as he sees the bone _move_ in the red slick of blood. 

“Gun away.” Minho obediently shoves his gun back into his belt, pulling his jacket down over it. “Let’s go.”

They get out of the apartment building pretty smoothly. Surprisingly, no one stops them, although the sun has yet to rise and Minho doesn’t know anyone insane enough to be out and about in the ass crack of dawn. Besides them, of course. 

Minho helps Changbin load the unconscious I.N. into the backseat of his slightly beat up Honda minivan, then slides into the front seat himself. 

“Try and keep him from sliding around. Take special care with his ankle though; if it ends up not healing properly I’m pretty sure he’ll hunt us down and kill us.” Minho looks in the rear view mirror to catch a terse nod from Changbin, then peels out of the parking space. 

The drive to the hospital is spent mostly in tense silence. Minho drives rather conservatively; he’d really rather not get pulled over right now, and he doesn’t want to risk turning a sharp corner and having Changbin and I.N. in the backseat be slammed against the car doors like crash dummies. 

“Try not to get blood on my seats,” Minho says lightly, trying to ease the mood somewhat. He stops at a red light, peeking into the backseat at his boyfriend and an assassin with over two hundred kills to his name. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll try not to.” Changbin says drily, staring dead into Minho’s eyes (*) while I.N.’s ankle cradled in his lap drips blood steadily onto the floor. Minho sighs. He glances back at the light. 

Still red. 

“Um, so can we talk about,” Minho flicks his eyes between I.N. and Changbin, “you two now? Or do you wanna wait until after we check him in?” Changbin nods his head at something behind Minho and he sees the green light at the same time that the car behind them honks impatiently. Minho casually rolls down the window and flips the other driver off. He’s irritable, he’s stressed, he’s worried, and he’s also terrified, so of course the natural thing for him to do is snappishly retaliate at people who annoy him. He (gently) drives away. 

“Let’s talk later.” Minho hears Changbin say softly a few silent seconds later. 

“Okay. Right now though, we have to come up with a cover story for the hospital.” Minho gently rolls the car to a stop at another light. Resting one hand on the steering wheel, he taps on the black leather thoughtfully. “Let's say we found him on the street. We suspect a mugging, and that’s why we don’t have any explanations on any of his injuries. We also don’t have to provide an alias for him.”

“Sounds good,” Changbin’s voice floats over from the backseat. Minho checks the rear view mirror to see Changbin gazing at I.N. with a concerned look. There’s definitely a long history between the two. 

Silence falls inside the minivan for the rest of the ride, broken only by Minho periodically checking the rear view mirror and asking if Changbin and I.N. are okay every so often. 

Then they arrive at the hospital. 

Minho doesn’t really grasp what happens next; everything is just a blur of bright white lights, concerned voices asking a myriad of questions, and a visibly distressed Changbin that flits in and out of his vision every so often. He responds when spoken to, nods when nurses ask if he’s okay, and stays absolutely glued to Changbin’s side. 

It’s easy to act like one’s in shock. Minho just lets his mind go back to the sight of I.N.’s ankle, and then his brain does his job for him, muting the outside world and trapping him inside with his thoughts. Yeah, maybe he’s not really acting. Maybe he really is going into shock. Minho feels like he should be concerned. 

But when they’re finally left alone, finally found refuge from the barrage of concerned questions from paramedics and nurses, Minho snaps himself out of it forcefully. Because he knows that Changbin is going to _break-_

Minho lurches forward to catch Changbin as the other’s legs give out on him, and he wraps an arm around the other’s small frame to guide him into a waiting chair outside of the room that I.N. was whisked into not even a few minutes prior. 

“Binnie?”

(* Changbin just groans and hides his face in his hands. He hunches over in the dull grey plastic chair, and Minho feels a spike of worry in his chest as Changbin’s breathing starts to pick up. The day's events are probably catching up to him, and Minho knows that it’s going to be tremendously difficult for him to cope with all of the different thoughts and emotions flooding in at once. 

“Changbinnie, I’m right here. Focus on breathing. Just breathe, in and out. I’ve got you, I’m not going anywhere. Breathe.” Minho holds himself together for Changbin’s sake. He _has_ to. He has to be strong for Changbin. Minho flutters his hands awkwardly around for a bit before he settles and pats Changbin’s back soothingly, muttering soothing nothings as the other struggles to control his breathing. *)

They sit like that for a few minutes, even after Changbin’s small panic attack recedes. Minho is patient; Changbin will speak when he wants to. 

So he waits.

A couple of nurses walk by with clipboards. 

Small electronic beepings come periodically from behind closed doors. 

Minho keeps one arm resting around Changbin’s shoulders. If he can’t comfort his boyfriend through words right now, he’ll do it through touch, making sure that Changbin _knows_ that Minho’s here for him. 

“H-he looked almost exactly like that the day I found him.” Changbin rasps out without warning. He’s still staring at the linoleum tiles, head cradled in his chest. Minho ducks down next to him, but Changbin’s eyes are screwed shut. Minho hums to show that he’s heard him. He waits again. 

A few seconds of silence pass, and then _words_ upon _words_ start spewing out of Changbin, like he’s laying his entire mind out for Minho to see, no thought going into his sentences; he just wants to get them _out._

* “He was just _lying_ there, so much _blood_ , and I was just going to walk away. Because why would I help him out? I didn’t know him, I had nothing to gain from saving him. He was probably dead, but then he _moved_ , and oh god, there was _bone_ showing, and I’m not squeamish about blood, but he looked like he was in so much _pain_ . So then I knelt by him and his eyes were closed but it sounded like he was trying to scream, probably trapped in half-consciousness and-” Changbin takes a quick gulp of air, screwing his eyes shut even further. “-and so I knelt down beside him and realized that he’s so young. He didn’t deserve a death like that, being almost beaten to death by some random kids mugging him, so I carried him back to my place and set him on my couch and tried my absolute best for his wounds but he kept trying to scream but it came out as a faint rasp and I thought he was going to _die._ ” Changbin’s eyes fly open at the word “die”, as if he’s now realizing that I.N. dying is a thing that can happen now. Minho takes his face into his hands, staring into his vacant but frantic eyes, giving him a little nod to tell him that he can go on. “I ended up taking him to the hospital and _it feels the exact same right now_ , and maybe that’s why I’m freaking out? Because the same thing happened seven years ago and it’s all rushing back and _oh god_ -” a sob tears itself out of Changbin’s throat, and then Minho’s holding him tight to his chest as Changbin _breaks,_ all of his raw emotions tumbling from him in the form of tears and guttural, heart-wrenching cries that pierce right through Minho’s heart. 

Minho is downright terrified. Changbin is usually the rock in their relationship, and he’s only cried in front of him twice before. He’s never actually broken down like this, and Minho is fucking _scared._ But he has to keep it together. He’ll be Changbin’s rock, his anchor this time. 

So he holds onto Changbin as the other cries, as if his embrace is the only thing keeping the jagged shards of his boyfriend together. 

And he waits, hugging Changbin as tight as he can, muttering soothing words into his hair and telling his own sobs that they can go to hell. 

“I’ve got you, don’t worry, it’ll all be okay…”

_It’ll be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heck that was a lot of emotional trauma. 
> 
> And not even all of it is fully revealed yet, heehehhehehe >:))))
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one Minho-centric chapter! This fic is going to be Jeongin biased, but I may have to switch POVs sometimes to other members of skz to give some background information and describe events when Jeongin's not around/passed out and on the verge of death. 
> 
> Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, happy birthday to our lovely Changbin, and thanks for reading! Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and kudos are always appreciated!!! <333


	4. Neon Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeongin would like to cuss out both Dr. Park and the universe in general.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AYYYY IM BACK!!!!! *waves excitedly*
> 
> Writing inspiration for me comes in little waves and bursts, so sorry that my updates have been kind of sporadic :/ But hey! I’m back! 
> 
> Oh heck, a lot of shit goes down in this chapter hehe... 
> 
> No TWs this time! 
> 
> Also I have absolutely no clue how hospitals work or broken ankles work, so please bear with me hdksjdkskfks o-0
> 
> Any who, I’ll let you start reading! See you at the end! :D

Jeongin wakes up. 

See, that’s the problem. He wakes up. 

Not by his alarm clock. 

He wakes up naturally. 

_Something is wrong._

There’s some insistent beeping going on in the room that he’s in. He doesn’t open his eyes yet to check where he is though. He can’t show that he’s awake yet; he has the advantage if he pretends to be asleep. That is, assuming that he’s been captured. 

He’s in a bed, a mattress of some kind. There’s a light blanket covering half his body. No restraints. 

It’s actually quite comfy. 

He hears footsteps grow louder, murmured voices, the click of a pen, then the footsteps disappear. The beeps make sense now. The bed does too. 

Oh shit, he’s in a hospital. 

_Fuck. Well, at least I’m alive. Bang Chan still needs me to finish the job._

Jeongin decides to open his eyes. 

Yep, he’s in a hospital room. It’s all crisp white lines, the sharp smell of whatever sterilizer the doctors use, and the steady drone of beeping from a clunky machine next to him. A peaceful atmosphere surrounds the whole place, and Jeongin feels like he’s in a blissful little bubble of solitude within the bustle of the hospital. 

He wants _out._

Footsteps.

“Oh, hey! You’re up!” Jeongin tenses as the door on the opposite side of the room creaks open. Someone steps into the room, all equipped in a white doctor’s coat and carrying a clipboard in his hands. Jeongin squints at him, blinking a couple of times to get the remnants of sleep out of his vision. 

The doctor hums a little tune as he moves into the room, setting the clipboard down on a little desk in the corner and bustling over to the machines hooked up to Jeongin. 

Jeongin continues to squint at him. 

After fiddling with the IV drip hooked up to Jeongin, the doctor takes a seat on a stool by the bed, clicking a pen in his hands. 

“Hi! I’m Dr. Park. You’re probably very confused right now as to why you’re in the hospital, and honestly I’m a bit confused as well. Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Park leans forward, a friendly smile on his lips. He‘s got a nice, soft face with trusting eyes and a kind smile. He seems like a good, morally aligned, decent man.

Jeongin immediately dislikes him. 

“Oh wait!” Dr. Park slaps himself on the forehead, his eyes almost comically wide in concern. “I never asked for your name!”

“Yeosang.” Jeongin says quietly, eyes flicking to track Dr. Park’s pen as he scribbles something on his clipboard. “Why am I here? Who brought me in?” Jeongin’s being blunt, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He probably won’t have to see Dr. Park _Jinyoung_ , as his name tag helpfully supplies, again for the rest of his life. He’ll be out of here as soon as he leaves anyways. 

“Two men brought you in early this morning. They say that they found you on the street.” Dr. Park clicks his pen as he speaks, flicking his eyes up to meet Jeongin’s gaze. 

“Oh.” Bang Chan had sent someone after him. 

Fuck. 

Jeongin blinks. 

Early this morning. 

Just who the fuck does Bang Chan think he is, sending people to keep tabs on him? Sending people to camp out close to him, ready to intervene at any moment? 

Jeongin decides that after he kills Kim Seungmin, he’ll collect his pay and kill Bang Chan. Or at least terrify him enough to sate his burning hatred for the man. 

“I believe that you were the victim of a particularly violent mugging.” Dr. Park’s voice is kind, gentle, euphemistic. He clicks his pen again. Jeongin decides that it’s time to act. 

“H-How bad is it?” Jeongin asks, widening his eyes and purposefully stuttering. He lets his breathing pick up, lets his eyes lock onto the doctors as he tries to portray fear in his gaze. 

Dr. Park’s expression is suddenly filled with concern, worry, and his eyes soften as he reaches out to grasp Jeongin’s hand in his own. Jeongin fights the urge to flinch at the unwelcome contact. Luckily, Dr. Park doesn’t notice the multitude of scars covering Jeongin’s palm. 

“You sustained many small lacerations all over your body, including a particularly bad one on your face, and another on your right arm. We gave you stitches for those. However, your foot,” Dr. Park pauses, probably mulling over how to phrase his next words. “Your ankle is badly fractured, and we had to perform emergency surgery on you to set it, get some plates in, and stop the bleeding.”

Jeongin nods, his mind already whirring. So, a fractured ankle. Not that bad. It might put a dent in his plan to kill Seungmin, but it won’t hinder him _that_ much. 

Oh, he should probably react, say something like a normal person. 

“I-okay.” Jeongin makes sure to stutter again, forcing fake tears to his eyes. He knows that he looks pretty young, and he fully intends to take advantage of this kind doctor however he can. It seems to be working; Dr. Park’s expression shows nothing but kind sympathy, and he’s still holding onto Jeongin’s hand as if to provide comfort. Jeongin’s skin crawls. “Will I be able to walk again?” Dr. Park gives him a soft smile, one so disgustingly full of hope that Jeongin almost snatches his hand back and retches. 

“You will be able to in a few weeks. Your ankle requires a week of bed rest, and then we’ll outfit you with crutches so you can go back home.”

The poor fool doesn’t know that Jeongin will be _out_ of there in the next hour. 

Forcing a small smile on his face, Jeongin gently retracts his hand away from the doctor, unable to take the feeling of someone touching him any longer. 

Silence falls. Steady beeps fill the room, and Jeongin concentrates on them instead of Dr. Park by his bedside. 

Thank the heavens that Dr. Park seems to be relatively new at his job. The most telltale sign is the nervous clicking of his pen. The next obvious is the blatant sympathy he shows for Jeongin, nothing like the professional detachment that doctors are supposed to have with their patients. It just makes it easier for Jeongin to wheedle information out of him, taking advantage by how pitifully young he looks. The third sign is the callousness that he shows in continuously pestering Jeongin to keep talking and bring up a traumatic event that happened recently. 

“I’m sorry for bringing this up again, but do you remember what happened?” Dr. Park says gently, although the nervous clicking of his pen tells Jeongin that he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. His face looks open, innocent. Kind of like-

_Jeongin’s gaze zeroes in on the person, the boy, in the bed as he suddenly scrambles backwards against the wall, clutching something tightly in a two-handed grip._

_“Get the fuck away from him!”_

Hm. 

Oh yeah. He has to answer the question. Screwing his eyes shut, Jeongin shifts under the blanket, curling his legs up to show fear, vulnerability. In reality, he’s just checking to see if the dimwits who brought him in were smart enough to remove his thigh sheath and other knives. 

Dammit. They were. He’ll have to hunt them down now and demand to have his weapons back. 

“Uh,” Jeongin starts out. His voice wavers. He hears Dr. Park make a small noise of sympathy. 

_What an idiot._

“I was walking, and then there was yelling, and someone shoved me into this alley-“ Jeongin cuts himself off, snapping his eyes back open to stare at Dr. Park Jinyoung in mute terror. He might as well take the chance to brush up on his acting skills. 

_Let’s give this man a fucking show._

“T-there was a _knife,_ and then laughing, and oh god, the pain-“ Jeongin shuts his eyes again, partially for the act, and partially to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

“Sh, it’s okay Yeosang, you don’t have to relive it right now.” There’s a hand petting his head, and _there’s a hand petting his head,_ and Jeongin actually flinches, his eyes shooting open to pinpoint Dr. Park with terrifying accuracy. Dr. Park, having gone through eight years of med school, has enough common sense to snatch his hand away. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

Jeongin doesn’t offer a reply. His heart is pounding inside of his chest, and he hears the beeps in the room speed up in response. 

Silence falls again. 

“I’m sorry I asked you that earlier, but I just wanted to let you know that police will be in here soon to ask you about it, and I wanted to let you prepare yourself.”

_Bitch, if I were an actual patient, I’m pretty sure that I would be freaking the fuck out right now. Who gave this man his M.D.?_

“I-it’s okay,” Jeongin says quietly, trying his absolute hardest not to let the words roll off his tongue dripping with scorn. “I’m okay.”

Dr. Park’s shoulders slump a little in relief. Jeongin almost laughs at him. 

“Okay, I’m sorry again. I really shouldn’t have pushed; it’s a sensitive topic.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m going to step out for a few minutes now, okay? I’ll talk to the two men outside who brought you in - they seem worried sick by the way - and just let you have some time to yourself. Is that okay?” Dr. Park clicks his pen one final time, standing up from the stool with a comforting smile on his face.

“Okay.”

Jeongin offers Dr. Park a small smile as he slips out the door. The door handle clicks. Then-

“Fuck.”

Jeongin rips the bedsheets off of him, scowling as the movement makes the dozens of cuts on his body scream. There’s some tubing in his arm attached to the IV above him, and he rips that off as well. Snapping upright into a sitting position, Jeongin takes in what has happened to his leg. 

His right foot is encased in a hard cast, looking as if somebody outfitted him in a ski boot three sizes too big, then wrapped it in _fucking neon pink duct tape._

_Fucking. Neon. Pink._

So much for staying inconspicuous while on the job. It will definitely attract unwanted attention, not to mention that it will hinder his movements. 

Swinging his legs off of the side of the thin mattress, Jeongin starts devising his escape plan. The police will be here in ten minutes tops, so he can’t escape through the door. Bang Chan’s men are also presumably outside, and he’s in no condition to confront them. He’s also reasonably sure that the hospital won’t let patients just waltz out the front door. 

Now Jeongin really doesn’t want to get into the habit of jumping out windows, but going through the door isn’t an option. At least the window is on the first floor this time; hopefully he won’t break his ankle again. 

_Sorry Park Jinyoung,_ Jeongin idly thinks as he hops over to the window, keeping his weight off his bad foot. He’s not a (complete) idiot; he doesn’t want to break his ankle another damn time or screw up the healing process too badly. 

The drop from the window to the ground isn’t that bad, and Jeongin is suddenly grateful that he’s kept his thigh muscles in shape all these years; he lands completely on his left leg, and it buckles and folds beneath him at the sudden strain, but it does manage to break his fall. As he lies sprawled on the ground, he shoots a glare at the cast on his other foot. 

_Really, fuck you._

Pushing himself to his feet (well, foot), Jeongin hops back into the streets of Seoul. Thankfully he’s still in his clothes from last night, so he won’t be attracting as many suspicious glances if he were hopping around in a hospital gown. 

First thing’s first, Jeongin needs to get back to his apartment. He needs to assess his wounds for himself, examine his ankle some more, and probably down a few pain killers. Next, he’s going to grab his computer, and find out who the _fuck_ Bang Chan had decided to send after him. Then he’ll pay those folks a visit, demand his weapons back, and make a few death threats if he ever finds them snooping around him while he’s on a job again. Or just kill them and be done with it if he’s in the mood. _That’ll_ send Bang Chan a message. 

Fun. 

Jeongin curses as he stumbles over a raised section of pavement, then continues his merry hopping way back to his apartment. 

~~~

Changbin has really trained Jeongin too well. He’s gone by the time the police show up to the hospital, but thankfully Changbin and Minho are gone too, currently peeling out of the parking lot in Minho’s beat up minivan. 

“That fucker,” Changbin snorts fondly, idly picking at his cuticles as he glances over at Minho, who’s driving. “How much for you wanna bet that he’s gonna be sitting on our couch, waiting for us when we get home?”

“That’s a given. Wonder if he’ll manage to avoid the security and traps we set up with his cast slowing him down.” They both chuckle. Minho rolls the car to a stop at an intersection, glancing over at Changbin to his right. “On a more serious note, how are you doing?” His eyes are deep, warm, inviting, and Changbin avoids them like the plague. A hollow feeling settles itself in his stomach. 

“I’m fine, Min.” Minho gives him a look, and takes a finger off of the steering wheel to prod at his shoulder. “No, seriously, I’m better now. It was just… a shock. I’m okay now.” Changbin keeps his eyes trained on the intersection in front of them, and he nods to the front of the car when the light turns green. Minho returns his focus to driving, but he keeps his mouth shut, which Changbin appreciates. He’s okay now, and he doesn’t want to talk. He’s okay, he’s doing fine. 

“Do you have all of his stuff?”

“I’m not an idiot, of course I do. I don’t have a death wish.” Changbin’s voice is teasing, and he tries to keep his tone light as a contrast to what happened before. “Although he is probably gonna try and kill us when we get home.” His voice is contrastingly bright, laced with a bit of humor. However, Minho does not seem to see the humorous side as well. 

“He fucking _what?”_ Minho grips the steering wheel tight, glancing over at Changbin in the rear view mirror. 

“Don’t worry, he won’t since I’m here. He’s just a bit paranoid.” Minho laughs bitterly then, and Changbin spares him a concerned glance. 

“Aren’t we all?”

Oh shit, Changbin really doesn’t want to open up this can of worms right here, right now. He opts to remain silent, eyes stubbornly fixed on the road ahead. Breathing out a sigh, he feels exhaustion settle over him like a weighted blanket, and he just wants to go to sleep, to rest, to stop stressing. 

“Let’s… let’s just go home.” His voice is soft, quiet, and Minho gives him a terse nod. 

The rest of the ride passes in silence. 

~~~

Finding out who Bang Chan had sent to tail him was child’s play. All Jeongin had to do was hack into the apartment’s database and figure out who moved in around the same time as him. The database tells him that a certain Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho had apparently moved in about half a week after him, and currently reside in a room on the floor below. 

After arming himself with a few weapons of choice, Jeongin sneaks into ‘Choi Jongho’ and ‘Jeong Yunho’s’ apartment. It’s booby trapped, as expected, but Jeongin manages to disable all of them quite easily. He’s got a reputation to live up to, after all. 

The room itself is pretty plain, only a little bit bigger than Jeongin’s own apartment. There’s a beat-up looking couch pushed to the far wall, sitting across from a dinky little television that Jeongin is sure came from the 80’s. There seems to be a kitchen around the corner, and Jeongin pads silently across the room for a closer look. Yep, it’s a kitchen. There’s a stool lying on its side on the tiled floor, covered in white powder spilling out of a paper bag on the counter. Jeongin can make out footsteps in the flour trailing from the kitchen over to the couch. Drugs? No. Flour. 

Traipsing back into the living room, Jeongin plops himself down on the couch to wait for its owner’s return. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. 

“-told you so, we should’ve set up different traps.” Jeongin raises an eyebrow as the door creaks open, idly playing with a small knife that he had swiped from the kitchen in his hands. 

“But those were _cheap-“_

“ _It made no difference_.” Jeongin flicks his wrist, and the knife embeds itself in the doorframe, barely an inch away from the head of the person who just opened the door. 

Silence falls. The atmosphere _changes,_ the thud of the knife bringing with it a tension so thick that its cloying malaise fills Jeongin’s entire chest, making it difficult for him to breathe. 

The person locks eyes with Jeongin, his face rapidly losing color and his eyes blown wide with shock and fright. He’s got pretty large eyes, almost like a cat’s. His face is also pretty. _Really,_ Jeongin thinks, _being that pretty should be illegal._

Deciding that action is required in order to move things along, Jeongin cocks his head to the side and lets a smile utterly devoid of any warmth or joy spread across his face. 

“Hello.” Jeongin says, slowly sliding another knife out. The person at the door appears to still be frozen, eyes now locked on the knife handle quivering right in front of his eyes. “You tailed me. Don’t worry, it’s nothing personal, but I’m going to have to kill you now.” 

Jeongin raises the knife to throw, eyes honing in on the person’s bobbing throat, zeroing in on the fluttering pulse underneath the skin, and in one fluid motion he flicks his wrist, and-

“ _INNIE-!”_

_Thud._

Jeongin _freezes,_ dimly registering that his knife has embedded itself in the doorframe again instead of the person’s throat. Everything suddenly comes into vivid alacrity as adrenaline rushes through his veins, and Jeongin can _hear_ the blood roaring in his ears. 

_It can’t- no- it’s been_ four _years-_

Jeongin blinks, once, his head starting to spin, spin with memories, days long gone, _laughter and warmth-_

A second person pokes his head into the open doorway, eyes just as steely and sharp as Jeongin remembers them. 

Something inside of Jeongin cracks, and he can feel _something_ raging through him, something foreign, something that he hasn’t known in so long that it feels alien to him now. 

With his arm still extended from the throw, Jeongin calls out in a shaky voice, “B-Binnie-hyung?”

 _Laughter. An arm slung around his shoulders. Smiling until it_ hurt. _His heart swelling in his chest, filling him with such warmth-_

Jeongin barely registers that his arm has begun to tremble, his eyes still locked on steel ones. With no warning, his heart _twinges_ painfully, and he drops his arm, sucking in a sharp breath. 

Four. Fucking. Years. 

In one fluid motion, Changbin _moves,_ pulling the other person behind him protectively. His movements are fluid, sharp, isolated, just like Jeongin remembers them. 

_No. Stop. I can’t. Just, no-_

Jeongin focuses only on his breathing, on the rise and fall of his diaphragm, struggling to piece parts of himself back together and shove out the traitorous, suspiciously warm feeling rising inside of him. His vision tunnels, and he drops his gaze to the floor, zeroing onto one specific patch of frayed carpet. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

_Four. Goddamn. Fucking. Years._

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Think logical. Changbin is here. He has another person with him. He was sent by-

“Innie, please just let me-“

“You’re working for Bang Chan.” Raising his head, Jeongin meets Changbin’s eyes again. His voice is steady, betraying none of the emotional turmoil inside of him. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe out. 

Shove that warmth, that _happy_ feeling deep down inside, behind the iron bars of his traitorous heart where it belongs. 

Jeongin cocks his head to the side, letting that same cold smile spread across his face again. “You are, correct?”

“Oh for _fuck’s sake,_ Innie, drop the act.” Changbin rolls his eyes then, stepping further into the room. Jeongin immediately tenses, fingers twitching for yet another knife up his sleeve. “I’m going to hug you now, and you aren’t going to stab me or kill me.”

Jeongin eyes Changbin warily as the other strides confidently towards him, making sure that Jeongin can see that he isn’t making any moves towards concealed weapons or whatnot. Then Changbin is _there_ , and his arms are encircling Jeongin in a tentative at first, then fierce hug. It’s comfortingly familiar. 

Breathe in. 

Breathe- oh, _fuck it._

Jeongin’s heart _breaks._ It breaks messily, making his nose sting and run, making him take gasping gulps of air, and making him return Changbin’s embrace as much as he can, clinging to the other as his body shakes with treasonous sobs. Warmth floods his chest, Changbin’s tight embrace the only thing stopping Jeongin from imploding, from cracking. 

“B-Binnie-“

“Sh, I’m here now Innie, let it all out. Breathe.” Through eyes blurry from tears, Jeongin sees Changbin nod to the person still in the doorway, and they retreat from view. 

It fucking _hurts,_ to be able to feel something again. 

It’s been too long. 

Four. Years. 

For the first time since he was thirteen, Jeongin lets himself cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I wanted to happen:  
> “What did you do to it?” Dr. Park’s tone is light, filled with levity, his eyes wide, kind.  
> Jeongin stares dead into the man’s eyes. “I jumped out of a two story building window onto pavement.”  
> Silence.  
> Dr. Park had clearly not been expecting that answer. He looks like he’s rebooting, his mouth trying to form words while his brain struggles to supply those words. He blinks, once, twice, and it takes everything that Jeongin has to stop himself from snorting. 
> 
> HECK I LOVE WRITING EMOTIONAL DRAMA LEZZGHETTIT!!!
> 
> I also want to swaddle each of my characters in a warm blanket where no harm can come to them, but I also love the good ol’ tragic backstory and emotional trauma so... :))))
> 
> Oh my gosh Jeongin is so emotionally constipated he doesn’t even recognize the emotions inside of him jsksjjfkxjdozms 
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! I had fun writing Jeongin being 110% done with Jinyoung lol. Also yay Jinyoung cameo! He gives me doctor vibes idk. Also again, I really know next to nothing about hospitals, so let’s pretend that this is how hospitals work, okay?
> 
> Ahhh, thanks so much for reading again! Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and kudos are always appreciated! <3333 :D


	5. Santoki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Changbin beats Jeongin up, but he ends up getting instant ramyeon later so it’s all okay in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy, and I’m back! Who missed me?
> 
> Ah, sorry for not updating for a while now; I went on vacation, then I couldn’t find time to write, then I started cramming in all of my AP summer work I procrastinated on, and hey, I’m still doing that work, and school starts next week and I’m pretty much screwed. 
> 
> Anywho, enough about that. 
> 
> TW: abusive alcoholic parent (an asterix (*) at the start of the paragraph will indicate a trigger warning)
> 
> Oki, I’ll let you get into the story then. See you guys at the end! Enjoy! :p

_ Jeongin’s vision flashes black for an alarming second or two, and he stumbles backwards holding up a hand in front of him. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and he doubles over, trying to keep his lunch in his stomach.  _

_ “Wait a-“ Jeongin tries to say, then a foot connects solidly with his stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap. He cries out on his way down, curling up into a ball to try and stop any future attacks. It hurts to breathe; days upon days of bruises are taking their toll on him, each of them layering on top of each other until his skin above his ribs is dyed a worrying array of black and blue.  _

_ The same foot that had kicked him enters his vision, and Jeongin blinks rapidly to hide the tears gathering in his stinging eyes.  _

_ “Binnie-“ _

_ “Get up.” The voice is cold, unyielding. The foot stays planted right in front of his face, and Jeongin is only half sure that its owner won’t lash out and add a broken nose to his growing list of injuries.  _

_ Breathing raggedly, shallowly, Jeongin  _ tries, _ he really  _ tries _ to get up. Getting his arms underneath him, he pushes, but the pain and exhaustion is overwhelming, and he collapses back to the mat underneath him with a rather pitiful groan.  _

_ He blinks and a single tear escapes him. He watches it fall, watches it hit the mat, darkening the red plastic surface. The sound that its impact makes is tiny, inconsequential, but to Jeongin it’s like a gunshot, a scream in the silent room.  _

_ “Get up.” The order comes again, just as cold and unyielding as before. Except this time, Jeongin doesn’t think he has it in him to get back up. He can’t. He just can’t.  _

_ “I-I can’t.” Curling back up into a ball on the mat, Jeongin waits for the scathing words, the burning lecture.  _

_ “Get. Up.” The words are harsher, warning of incoming pain. Jeongin curls around himself tighter, wrapping his head in his arms.  _

_ “I can’t.” He whispers the words, half sure that they’re lost to the yawning silence of the room, to the sound of his pitiful gasps for air.  _

_ Shifting of fabric. A sigh of air. The cracking of some joint. Then a hand is on his shoulder, pushing him over, and another hand is prying his head out of his arms.  _

_ “Innie.” The voice is still biting, devoid of emotion, but the use of the nickname stirs  _ something _ inside of Jeongin, and he looks up through tear-stained vision to meet Changbin’s cool eyes of steel. The other is bent down next to him, holding Jeongin in place as he tries to move away.  _

_ “I can’t- I can’t get up, hyung.” Jeongin stutters out in between gasps, trying with all his might to stop the tears. A hollow feeling is beginning to open up in the pit of his stomach, and Jeongin can feel himself slipping, falling in.  _

_ “Innie,” Changbin says again in that same impassive voice, and Jeongin is suddenly hyper aware of how pitiful his sobs sound. Why can’t he be more like Changbin? Why can’t he control his emotions? Why can’t he stop his damn tears? “Get up. Do you think your enemies will give a single fuck about how tired you are? About how much you’re hurting?” Changbin shakes Jeongin, mouth curled in a snarl as his eyes bore into the younger.  _

_ Jeongin stares right back at Changbin, hiccuping as he tries to deny the fact that there are big fat tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking his T-shirt. It feels awful, not being able to control his body, not being able to stop. Fucking. Crying.  _

_ A few minutes pass, Jeongin maintaining steady eye contact with Changbin as he slowly, but surely crushes the  _ feelings _ , the pain inside of him. He can ignore the pain. He can push the feelings away. He has  _ control. 

_ “No.” Jeongin’s voice is steady, leaving no trace of his earlier breakdown. Unwrapping his arms from around his legs, he removes Changbin’s arms from around him. He ignores the way his limbs shake, how each movement causes a myriad of small bruises and cuts over him to  _ scream _ in agony.  _

_ “Good. Now get up.” Changbin rises to his own feet, gazing down at Jeongin with a challenge in his eyes. He offers no hand to help, no pity in his gaze.  _

_ Jeongin places one arm to the side of him. Then another on his other side. And he  _ pushes. 

_ His muscles shake, his wounds scream, and he’s  _ hurting _ , so bad, but Jeongin gets up.  _

_ He gets up.  _

_ Swaying on his feet a little, he falls back into a fighting stance. He’s shaking, barely a minute away from fainting from exhaustion, but he’s going to give it his all until he does. Raising one finger in front of him, he beckons Changbin forwards.  _

_ “Good.” Changbin bounces on the balls of his feet a little, the ghost of a smile on his face. Then he lunges. And Jeongin gives it his all.  _

_ ~~~ _

_ “Hyung!” Jeongin laughs, his breath knocked out of him as something heavy flings itself across his lap. He’s smiling, and there’s a warmth inside of him that only one person can bring out.  _

_ The weight on his lap makes a grunting sound, and a plastic bag rustles as it shuffles around. Jeongin grumbles a bit at the jostling, but feels the warmth swell in his chest at the close, reassuring contact.  _

_ “I got ramyeon!” A mop of fluffy, dark hair shifts around some more in Jeongin’s lap, and Changbin’s face is revealed through the soft locks. There are bags under his eyes, a week-old bruise still darkening his cheek, but he smiles at Jeongin with so much  _ warmth _ and  _ happiness _ that Jeongin can maybe pretend that they’re normal for once. Just two friends, brothers really, living together.  _

_ Just two brothers.  _

_ Not a deadly assassin and his protegé.  _

_ Jeongin’s smiling, but he can feel his facial expression start to falter as his mind flits through his exact situation, flickers ahead to the fact that he’s training to  _ kill,  _ training to become a blade- _

_ Changbin raises his arm from where it’s dangling off the side of the couch, making the plastic bag crinkle. It’s enough to jerk Jeongin out of his spiraling thoughts, and he slams a smile back into place as he stares down at his hyung. Control. It’s all about control. Smile.  _

_ “Come on, let’s go eat. You deserve it.” The offer is warm, inviting, and Changbin’s gentle smile reduces Jeongin to a pliable mess of happiness and joy and warmth.  _

_ Ten minutes later finds the two slurping down noodles at the dilapidated coffee table. A pile of books make up one leg of it. The surface is uneven. There are more than a few scratches covering its surface. But it’s a table, and it functions as one. It works, even though it may be missing some pieces, has some battle-scars.  _

_ It functions.  _

_ The click of wooden chopsticks permeates the air as Jeongin eats, periodically punctuated by slurping noises from either one of them. The ramyeon is good; savory, hot, and it probably contains enough sodium to send Jeongin halfway to cardiac arrest.  _

_ The meal is eaten in silence. No cloying tension fills the air, no glares are shot over the table. It’s a comfortable silence, each of them just content to relax in each other’s company. They’ve spent the entire day together training, so there’s not much to really talk about anyways.  _

_ Jeongin finishes first, and he drops his chopsticks in the empty bowl as he stands up to deposit it in their kitchen sink.  _

_ He’s walking perfectly fine actually, perfectly steady, perfectly straight, until he’s not, and suddenly blinks his eyes open to find the floor much closer than it was before. His knees scream at him, and he blearily notices that he’s now kneeling on the unforgiving kitchen tiles, bent over with his forehead halfway to the ground. Everything fades in and out rather disorientingly, and he blinks a couple of times to try and clear his vision.  _

Ba-bump. 

_ The noise almost startles him, until Jeongin’s suddenly very slow brain recognizes it as his heartbeat.  _

_ He blinks again, and his gaze flicks upwards to note his chopsticks and ramyeon bowl scattered on the floor in front of him.  _

Ba-bump. 

_ Someone’s saying something, but Jeongin’s brain isn’t functioning, so he brushes it off. He blinks again, dimly finding it interesting that the tiles beneath him have some sort of weird stain on them. Paint? Varnish? Food dye-? _

_ “-Jeonginnie, come on, focus.” No, Jeongin only wants to figure out what this stain is now. No focusing. Only stain.  _

_ It’s brown and sort of looks like an old coffee stain. But this is tile; coffee wouldn’t-v _

_ “-Innie, godammit,  _ focus!”  _ The world quakes before him, and Jeongin raises his head to meet Changbin’s gaze in front of him, his eyes of steel ablaze with all the heat of a forge. The world shakes again, and Jeongin realizes that Changbin’s got his hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly.  _

_ Jeongin blinks a few times, meeting Changbin’s gaze with a hollow stare of his own. A minute or so passes.  _

_ “Why did you fall?” Changbin asks the question gently, quietly, his eyes searching Jeongin for an answer.  _

_ Jeongin stares back at Changbin, the thought of speaking suddenly placed at a difficulty level rivaling sprinting four miles. His tongue is heavy, his brain is too slow to send thoughts down to his mouth.  _

_ “I-“ Jeongin starts out, then cuts himself off as his vision flickers out for a worrying second. A few blinks later, and Changbin’s worried gaze is back in focus, albeit a bit distorted from Jeongin’s swimming vision.  _

_ Something‘s wrong with him. Jeongin can’t really think, and the thought of moving any one of his limbs fills him with mind-numbing exhaustion. In fact, all he can feel is mind-numbing exhaustion right now. It seeps deep into his bones, wrapping around his arms, his legs, his neck, threatening to pull him down onto the tiles at the mercy of gravity.  _

_ A thumb swipes under his cheek and Jeongin blinks weary eyes up at Changbin. The motion puzzles him, until he feels a drop of water drip onto his arm. Then again.  _

_ Jeongin blinks, then blinks again as something wet slides down his cheek.  _

_ He’s crying.  _

_ No. He can’t cry. He has to stay in control of his emotions. He can’t show weakness. He can’t  _ feel-

_ “Jeonginnie, let’s get you to bed.” The calm, soothing ease of Changbin’s voice slides into Jeongin’s muddled head. It’s all Jeongin can do to nod slightly, and then he’s being wrapped in strong arms, the chopsticks and bowl on the floor forgotten.  _

_ Jeongin is so  _ tired.  _ It’s worse than the time Changbin made him run laps until he was dry heaving, worse than the time when he had crawled into bed with Changbin, shaking with tears and broken sobs because memories better left forgotten had wormed their way inside his head.  _

_ Worse than the time when he had run as hard as he could, run without looking back at the place he used to call home, run for hours nonstop into the twisted alleyways of a city that he knew nothing about but trusted because it could hide him, hide the terrible  _ memories. 

_ The gentle swaying from Changbin carrying him feels nice, and Jeongin feels his eyelids droop as he’s rocked from side to side. The movements jostle his bruises and various wounds and they throb, but when do they not? Jeongin’s long learned how to deal with the pain, to accept it as a part of him. It doesn’t faze him anymore; pain is merely a message.  _

_ Something soft meets Jeongin’s back, and he curls up on his side instinctively. Then he feels blankets being pulled over his curled up figure, and he blinks up owlishly at Changbin, now sitting on the edge of the bed, occupied with the sheets.  _

_ Jeongin doesn’t know where the strength to talk comes from, but his lips are parted now, a. burning request on the tip of his tongue. His mind is hazy, filled with wispy clouds of soft cotton, but for some reason one frantic thought pushes its way through the haze and onto his tongue. He fights down the wave of darkness that comes with every blink he takes, his gaze fixed on his hyung sitting on the edge of the bed.  _

_ “Sing for me?” _

_ Changbin never shows emotion, never shows surprise, so the only thing that betrays his bewilderment is the slight hesitation before he speaks and the tremble in his voice.  _

_ “O-of course, Innie.” Changbin reaches out to brush some of Jeongin’s hair out of his eyes. He then falls silent, leaving his hand tenderly resting on Jeongin’s cheek as the younger starts his slow, spiraling descent into the embrace of unconsciousness.  _

_ A few minutes, perhaps half an hour, perhaps an hour pass in silence.  _

_ Jeongin is just barely hanging on to the waking world when he hears it.  _

_ The tune is nothing that Jeongin’s heard before, yet it feels achingly  _ familiar  _ as Changbin hums quietly in the darkness. Changbin’s voice is sweet yet rough, dramatic yet quiet, not quite in tune, but still hauntingly beautiful. It’s an intricate tangle of seeming contradictions which leave Jeongin in one of his own; confused yet so sure of this moment.  _

_ The song crescendos and falls, trails off in some places only to be picked up in a swell of notes later, and stirs something deep within Jeongin’s chest that he has no name for. It almost stops in some places, Changbin growing quieter as he tries to recall old memories, then soars again as he grasps onto their wispy tendrils in the back of his mind.  _

_ It ends on a question, on a phrase of notes so delicately trailing off and disappearing into the silent night. It’s a question of what has been lost, what has been found. It’s a question that pierces Jeongin’s heart.  _

_ The song is questioning itself, the ending phrase an inquisition of whether or not it is finished. Of whether or not it can stop now, or continue and perhaps spin a better future.  _

_ Jeongin slips into the velvety folds of sleep with one last tear softly sliding down his cheek, glinting in the weak moonlight.  _

_ ~~~ _

_ Jeongin’s cheek stings, and he reaches up with one finger to prod around the area where the pain is coming from. Touching something wet, he pulls his finger back to find bright blood staining his skin an accusing shade of red. His eyes widen.  _

_ “Jeongin-ah, stop touching it,” someone dabs his cheek with a tissue, tsking when Jeongin scrunches up his nose and pulls back. “Come on Innie, let me clean it.” _

_ Jeongin obediently sits back in silence, harrumphing a little bit. With little to do, he resigns himself to exploring his sister’s face with his gaze, blinking and squinting his eyes as a lock of her black hair escapes from behind her ear and brushes his face. She sweeps it back into its place with little thought, her focus on the cut on Jeongin’s cheek.  _

_ Jeongin’s sitting on the edge of his bed, feet swinging below him. His sister kneels in front of him with the first aid kit, ever so often reaching out with a hand to still Jeongin’s kicks. Sunlight slants in through the small corner of Jeongin’s rather sparse bedroom, illuminating the scene with a golden glow. It’s rather ironic, how light and warm the scene is framed as. If only the context were in better times.  _

_ “Ah, noona!” Jeongin suddenly hisses eyes wide as he jerks back. His sister sighs, raising the alcoholic swab in her hand again.  _

_ “Jeonginnie, we’ve been over this…” _

_ “Yeah, but it still  _ hurts.”  _ Jeongin sniffs a little bit, eyes welling up with tears from the sudden pain. It’s strange really; he’s crying now, but hadn’t thought to cry when he had received the wound. Strange.  _

_ It does sting a lot as his noona raises the swab to his cheek again, causing small sniffles and silent tears to escape from Jeongin as his sister cleans the wound and bandages it. However, the hurt is forgiven and forgotten when she leans forward to press a kiss on the bandage for good luck. She smells of vanilla and something floral, and Jeongin takes a deep, calming breath in before she pulls back.  _

_ “All better now!” Her bright giggles fill the air, a smile bright enough to rival the sun itself blooming on her face. Sitting back on her heels, she starts to pack away the first aid supplies.  _

_ Jeongin should feel happy. The kiss should have made everything better. He should stop hurting. He has stopped hurting in a sense; he can barely feel the pain in his cheek anymore. But something still throbs and stings, deep, deep within Jeongin’s heart. It doesn’t flare up when he breathes or anything, but its steady presence is always there. It feels… hollow, but it somehow  _ hurts. 

_ Jeongin sniffles once more, raising one hand to swipe furiously at his eyes. He’s not surprised to find wetness there, but rather disappointed. He shouldn’t be crying. The cut has been bandaged. He’s  _ fine. 

_ “Innie?” There’s a warm, gentle hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the tear tracks above his bandage. The movement is so tender, so gentle that the feeling inside of Jeongin throbs, and a fresh batch of tears start to well up.  _

_ “Noona,” Jeongin starts, hiccuping a little bit as he meets his sister’s gaze with his watery own. “W-why does he-“ he hiccups again. “Why does he… do this?” There are big, fat tears sliding down his face, but Jeongin couldn't care less about them. His sister must have the answer to his question. She has the answer to everything.  _

_ “Oh my gosh,  _ Innie-”  _ his sister chokes out, and Jeongin falls silent in surprise because noona  _ never _ loses her composure, and then he’s being enveloped in a crushing hug, his lungs filled with unknown flowers and warm vanilla.  _

_ Jeongin raises his arms to return the embrace, and it’s like a dam has burst inside of him. Tears start flowing freely, unbidden, running down his cheeks then disappearing into his noona’s hair and his shirt. It  _ hurts,  _ somewhere deep inside of him, but Jeongin can’t understand  _ why. 

_ A tear splashes onto Jeongin’s shoulder.  _

_ “Noona?” Jeongin starts out softly, in between shaky breaths and chest-racking sobs. He’s confused, the hollow feeling inside of him  _ throbs _ , but above all, he’s terrified.  _

_ Noona never cries.  _

_ “N-Noona?” Jeongin tries again, but his sister merely shakes her head and holds him tighter. All Jeongin can smell is the warm scent of vanilla, of safety, of  _ love _ , and for some reason it causes him to cry harder, a slight whimper escaping his throat.  _

_ “Jeonginnie,” his sister’s voice is quiet, barely whispered into his ear. It’s quiet enough for not even the room or his teddy bear to hear him, as if his name is a whispered secret not even trusted to the air itself.  _

_ Jeongin’s sister pulls back after a few more moments, and Jeongin is shocked when he sees her red-rimmed eyes. A tear trail sparkles down her left cheek, and a few of her hairs are stubbornly caught in it. She doesn’t wipe them away.  _

_ “Jeonginnie,” her voice is soft again, and Jeongin tries, he really tries to quiet his pitiful sniffles to hear her better. “I-I don’t know.” her voice cracks, and Jeongin feels his heart  _ break _. Noona isn’t supposed to cry. Noona is impermeable. Noona is calm, composed. Noona is the perfect daughter.  _

_ “Noona, w-why?”  _ Why are you crying? Why does he do this? Why are we like this?

_ Jeongin watches as a single tear makes its way down his sister's cheek, eventually falling, sparkling through the air to land on her outstretched hand.  _

_ “Jeo- I don’t know.” Her breath hitches, and suddenly she’s surging forward to wrap Jeongin in a crushing hug, as if she can form a cage with her body to protect him from the evils of the world.  _

_ They stay like that for a few minutes, maybe close to half an hour. Time passes, but they pay no heed to it. All they know is that they are alone together, floating aimlessly in this vast universe.  _

_ The hollow feeling in Jeongin’s chest doesn’t go away. The kiss didn’t make it better, nor did his noona’s hug. It just sits in his stomach, a silent but persistent pain.  _

Thud. 

_ Jeongin stops breathing, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes widen and his mouth goes dry. His heart skips one, two beats in his chest, then it’s hammering away, pumping adrenaline, liquid fear through his veins. _

_ * _ A looming shadow. The acrid smell of alcohol permeating the air. The wild, barely-there look in his eyes. A beer bottle in his hands, knuckles turning white from how tight he’s grasping it. The harsh shatter of the glass as it breaks, and Jeongin’s backing away, eyes wide, unable to look away, look down, because that will only exacerbate his anger. A cold, unyielding wall at his back, and the light’s being blocked out by that shadow, the same unhinged look in his eyes, and Jeongin whimpers-

Pain. 

_ He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s clinging to his noona until she pulls away, her own eyes equally as wide.  _

_ Muffled shouts come from somewhere within the house, a few distinct curses audible to Jeongin’s ears.  _

Ba-bump _.  _

_ “Jeonginnie, I’m going to go downstairs and-“ both of them wince when they hear the crash, Jeongin flinching and squeezing his eyes shut at the stream of angry curses that follow.  _

_ “N-Noona-“ his voice is trembling, high pitched with fear, and Jeongin snaps his eyes open to lock gazes with his sister only to find his own expression mirrored on her face.  _

_ “I’m going to go downstairs. Calm him down.” Jeongin’s heart pounds at his sister’s decision. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated in fear, but her voice is steady, barely trembling even as their father shouts something unintelligible from down the stairs.  _

_ Standing up, Jeongin’s sister brushes one last kiss over the bandage on his cheek, lingering to press her forehead against his as he trembles in fear.  _

_ “It’ll be okay, I promise.” Jeongin closes his eyes, takes in a lungful of flowers and vanilla, then she’s gone, the door clicking silently shut behind her.  _

_ Shouting. A softer voice, pleading. More shouting.  _

_ Jeongin flinches as a harsh slap echoes through the house.  _

_ Then silence.  _

_ Another tear slides down his cheek, whether in fear for his sister or relief that it’s over, Jeongin doesn’t know. It makes no sound as it hits the back of his hand.  _

_ Later, Jeongin places a kiss of his own on the purpling bruise on his sister’s cheek, pretending not to notice the tears that silently stream down his face, or the red rimming his sister’s puffy eyes.  _

_ ~~~ _

_ “Sing for me?” Jeongin’s voice is quiet and sleepy, but his eyes are hopeful as he blinks owlishly up at his sister. She giggles softly, one hand reaching out to brush his fringe away from his forehead.  _

_ “Of course, Innie. What song?”  _

_ Jeongin wiggles a little under the blankets, eyes flicking up to the little glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on the ceiling as he thinks.  _

_ “Santoki!” Jeongin finally exclaims after a minute of thought. He frowns a little bit as his sister snorts, her eyes sparkling dimly in the near-darkness.  _

_ “Really? For a bedtime song?” _

_ “Yep!” Jeongin shifts around under the covers, trying to make himself comfortable. “Now sing.” He commands, staring up at his sister perched on the side of his bed.  _

_ “Okay,” she says with a small smile, fingers carding gently through Jeongin’s hair. Jeongin closes his eyes.  _

_ “Mountain bunny, bunny _

_ Where are you going? _

_ Bouncing, bouncing as you’re running _

_ Where are you going?” _

_ Her voice is lilting, reminiscent of the ephemeral sweetness of honey, as soft as the tinkling of bells in a morning breeze. She pauses, and the fingers running through Jeongin’s hair stop. Whining, Jeongin cracks open a tired eye to glare at her. Then all is forgiven and forgotten as she taps his nose, making him scrunch up his face and burrow beneath the sheets.  _

_ “Noona!” Jeongin’s reproachful grumble is muffled by the blanket.  _

_ “Ah, sorry, sorry!” There’s a bright giggle above him, and Jeongin tentatively pokes his head out to catch the smile she sends down at him. It feels like a warm ray of sunshine in the dark, and Jeongin is half-sure that his darkened room brightens a few shades because of it.  _

_ “Continue.” Jeongin orders sleepily, and he closes his eyes again.  _

_ “Over the mountain peaks, peaks _

_ I will climb them on my own _

_ Plump, plump chestnuts _

_ I will find and bring” _

_ The last few notes of the song trail off into the darkness, and Jeongin holds onto the sweet sound of his sister’s voice, clinging the warm memory of it tight to his chest.  _

_ “Again,” Jeongin murmurs, half asleep, and his sister complies. The notes float through the small room, dancing with tender playfulness through the air, up to the glowing stars above, and right into Jeongin’s heart.  _

_ “Over the mountain peaks, peaks _

_ I will climb them on my own _

_ Plump, plump chestnuts _

_ I will find and bring” _

_ Jeongin relinquishes himself to the gentle embrace of unconsciousness, pretending that maybe  _ he _ is the bunny embarking on a journey to a strange new land.  _

_ ~~~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy heck I’m sorry Jeongin for all of that emotional trauma wHEW-
> 
> And I haven’t even introduced half of it yet. >:)
> 
> Anywho, the purpose of these flashbacks are to highlight the relationships between Changbin and Jeongin and Jeongin’s sister and him. The parallels are interesting, but their relationships are also so different as well. Hm, I won’t explain every single thing that I wrote here, but I put in so much symbolism heehee~
> 
> Fun fact, Santoki is a song that my grandmother taught to me when I was little. The English translation is a bit wonky and doesn’t have the same rhythm/cadence as the korean, so I highly recommend looking it up and giving it a listen on YouTube or something. The song is really important to me, and writing it in was actually really fun but emotional as heck. 
> 
> OH MY GOSH THOSE FEW PARAGRAPHS DESCRIBING CHANGBIN SINGING TO JEONGIN-  
> I was awake at two am furiously typing away, half asleep and probably hallucinating or something, but it came out so well and I am so proud of myself *sniff*
> 
> Also, did I not give Jeongin’s sister a name because I’m a lazy writer, or because it adds to the story, creating distance between the two characters even if they are very close? Who knows? Definitely not me. 
> 
> Anywho, thank you guys so much for the love and support! We’ve passed 600 hits! Wow! Also I absolutely love and adore every single one of u who leave comments and kudos! Reading comments from you guys makes me so happy I just go :D 
> 
> (I also may have just fleshed out the entire story the other day, and hoo boy, are we in for a fucking wILD RIDE)
> 
> Oki, those were a lot of disorganized and chaotic notes, wow. Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and kudos are always appreciated! <3


	6. Free Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get all the good, juicy, wonderful backstories, as well the lovely first impression that Jeongin makes on Minho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FUCKING NEW YEAR I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK ME M O N T H S TO WRITE-
> 
> TT^TT
> 
> But in all seriousness, I do apologize. School's been really tough on me so far, and not to add I've been slammed in the face with some pretty shitty writer's block every since the beginning of September. I just couldn't write? I planned out the entire fic btw, but I just could not write this darn chapter. AHGEIUWHF I DESPISE WRITING IN BACKSTORIES AND IUDBKJRHKRHFK
> 
> Anywho, it is finally done! I'll let you get reading now, and I'll continue screaming my apologies at you in the end notes :'D

Four. Damn. Years. 

There’s something dark and spiky caught in Jeongin’s throat. It scratches at his vocal chords, stretching his windpipe, drawing small whimpers from him as he frantically tries to calm down. 

His eyes are screwed shut because whenever he tries to open them, the world becomes too bright, too vivid to take in. Just a bunch of blurry colors searing themselves into the back of his retina. 

Jeongin is crying. And he’s scared. 

_ Don’t cry, don’t cry, crying shows your weakness, crying lets them smell your blood and then the pain will come- _

“I’ve missed you.” Changbin’s voice is quiet, gentle, and Jeongin chokes back the wail tearing its way out of his chest. Burying his face in Changbin’s shirt, he clings to the other like a leaf to its tree in the midst of a hurricane. 

There’s  _ something _ growing in his chest, ripping its way through his body, destroying him from the inside out. It’s large, dark, and strangely warm, and Jeongin wants it  _ gone, _ wants everything to just  _ stop.  _

“I-I’ve missed you too, h-hyung.” Jeongin stutters out after a few more minutes, his breath catching on the last word. 

Hyung. Safety. Warmth.  _ Happiness.  _

Changbin’s got his arms around Jeongin, hugging him tight to his chest like Jeongin will shatter into millions of jagged shards the minute he lets go. Jeongin doesn’t mind; all he wants to do is hold his hyung as tight as he can to keep reassuring himself that he’s there. 

It’s been too damn long since Jeongin has felt  _ warmth  _ and  _ happiness  _ like this. 

But maybe that’s for the best. Warmth and happiness are traitorous feelings, fake emotions. Bury them deep down inside. Forget, let the old memories collect dust. 

Don’t feel. Just act. 

Kill. Collect. Rinse, repeat. 

_ Mindless _ . 

It takes a few more minutes, maybe an hour longer for Jeongin to finally regain some semblance of control over his breathing. Time holds no place in his and Changbin’s little bubble. 

Changbin waits patiently for him, rubbing soothing circles into his back like he used to four years earlier. Small touches, surprise hugs, the occasional nose boop. Those were Changbin’s things, and Jeongin never knew how much he loved them until that day-  _ he _ left. 

Jeongin allows himself five, maybe ten more seconds to collect himself. With his eyes screwed shut, fists clenched in Changbin’s surprisingly soft t-shirt, he feels so  _ safe _ and  _ warm _ , he could sleep. 

But no. 

Yet another small sniffle escapes Jeongin, the sound quivering through the room. The other person who had come with Changbin had stepped out sometime in the middle of Jeongin’s breakdown, probably waiting outside the room. 

The two knives violently embedded in the doorway glint coldly in the flickering light. 

Somehow Jeongin falls silent. Somehow he is able to temper the storm inside of him- no. He doesn’t temper it. He’s only able to… accept it in a way. He’s able to live with it, to exist in the eye of the storm. 

That doesn’t change the fact that he would rather rebreak his ankle another hundred times than have to deal with these…  _ feelings _ any longer. 

Changbin hums, deep in his throat, and Jeongin’s heart both swells at the comforting song, and simultaneously drops down to the ground because  _ confrontation.  _

Jeongin tightens his hold on Changbin’s shirt. 

“How have you been?” The question is spoken softly, Changbin’s voice resonating lowly from his chest. Jeongin almost snorts at the question’s levity, its  _ maverick casualness _ in the current situation. He allows himself one breath-  _ breathe in, breathe out-  _ before pulling back to answer. 

“I-I think you already know.” 

_ Never stutter, never tremble, don’t let them see any form of weakness- _

“Pretty terrible without me, huh?” Changbin’s words are light, teasing, and the corner of Jeongin’s mouth twitches up involuntarily. Changbin’s face is barely visible to him; all he can make out through his blurry, almost searingly bright vision are abstract spots of color. 

Another reason why he hates crying. He can’t fucking  _ see.  _

Deep breath. His hand is still clutching Changbin’s shirt like a lifeline. 

“Hyung,” he starts out, then pauses. Blinks a couple of times. Changbin’s face swims into view, then immediately blurs again as the traitorous wave of  _ something  _ inside of him threatens to annihilate his tenuous composure. “Why are we here? Why… how did we end up…?” 

_ How did we end up here, broken pieces of a broken compass, hopelessly anchored to polar opposite sides, desperately clinging to each other in order to not break  _ again?

A sigh. Jeongin suddenly takes into account the bags under Changbin’s eyes, the new scar on his brow. The new slight fullness to his cheeks, the sharp edge of his jawline mellowed out. 

“Innie, I-I don’t know.” 

Jeongin blinks. Silence descends upon them once again, its blanketing, almost cloying presence fluidly filling Jeongin’s ears. He shifts. 

“Four years.” Jeongin speaks softly.

“Yeah…”

Pause. 

“After you-  _ we _ split ways, what happened?” Meeting Changbin’s eyes, Jeongin swallows. 

_ Stop feeling. Stop trembling. Be strong.  _

“Um, well-” -Changbin chuckles- “-long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Jeongin says softly. He then belatedly notices the lost opportunity for a pun, sparing a quick glance down at his foot. 

_ Really, Park Jinyoung? Pink?  _

The horrible unnatural tightness in his throat seems to have receded for the most part. All that’s left in its wake is a static sense of apathy, each thought running through Jeongin’s brain seemingly coated in a layer of the dull taste. 

_ Think logical. Emotions will only hinder you.  _

“I’ll tell you my story, but afterwards I’d like to hear yours as well.”

A fair bargain. Jeongin nods his head. The room has become less bright now, and he readjusts himself on the couch in order to face Changbin fully. A faint memory tugs at the back of his mind, of a younger Changbin, a sharper jawline, a sharper voice, schooling him in the decorum of talking to clients. His eyes narrow and he adjusts his posture. 

_ Never show emotion, never show bias. Establish yourself as their equal, no matter the age or power difference.  _

Changbin’s eyes narrow the slightest fraction as well. Not in scrutiny perhaps, but in… worry? Confusion? Some kind of emotion that Jeongin cannot place a name to right now. A small furrow also appears in his brow, but disappears quickly as he starts speaking. 

And he speaks. 

He speaks of multiple apartments, scattered in remote corners of the world. He speaks of picking up random jobs, drifting aimlessly about from one client to the next. He speaks of countless deaths, the blood seemingly permanently stained into the skin under his nails. 

Then he speaks of one client who had hired him to go after a corrupt businessman, but had paired him with another person. Changbin had been pissed at first, but had reluctantly agreed to let the other person come along since the client had kept upping the pay. He had completed the job, albeit with the other person breathing down his neck the entire time. Jeongin thinks that Changbin must have an insane amount of patience. 

“... then I went back to him to collect my pay. And you know what?” Changbin tilts his head, a soft but fond smile playing upon his lips. Jeongin tracks the movement with a quick dart of his eyes, staring unblinkingly at the other. 

_ Posture straight, lean forward only to show interest, stay  _ still,  _ maintain eye contact- _

“That person’s name was Lee Minho. After taking that job for Chan-ssi, I relocated to Seoul in order to lie low for a few months.”

_ Chan-ssi? _

Jeongin blinks. Maintains eye contact. He does not let the expression of disbelief and rage spread across his face. Is Changbin’s “Chan-ssi” the same Bang Chan-?

Changbin chuckles under his breath, drawing Jeongin back to the moment. His eyes are distant, lost in his maze of memories. 

“I worked at a coffee shop for a few months after that in order to divert suspicion. It was actually quite nice. It’s dull, monotonous work, yes, but there’s something about the smell of roasting coffee permeating the air that makes you feel… welcome…” Letting his words trail off, Changbin tilts his head back to stare up at the dingy ceiling. All is silent for a few minutes. Jeongin resists the temptation to shift in his seat. He sits and waits. Silently. 

“It was a Wednesday morning, I remember that. It was sunny outside. I was working up front alone, just wiping down the counter because business had been slow that day, when  _ he _ walks in.” Changbin pauses, and Jeongin narrows his eyes the slightest bit at the  _ warmth _ , the  _ affection _ , blatantly showing on the upward turn of Changbin’s lips. “He just waltzes in the door, little to no flair, and orders an iced americano.”

There’s a hole opening up in his chest. Or maybe it had always been open all along, and Jeongin is now coming to the realization that he’s falling. 

Maybe he’s been falling all along, and he is only able to realize it now. 

Jeongin waits for Changbin’s next words, despite knowing exactly what will come out of his mouth. Everything is clicking into place. 

“Lee Minho. He’s honestly kind of an enigma, you know? After that one day, he just kept coming back. And talking. And he kept talking, as if we didn’t know who the other was. It was…” Changbin pauses. Looks down. Looks up to meet Jeongin’s gaze head on. “It was… almost like we were normal people. As if we both didn’t have hands dyed red from all of the  _ deaths. _ ”

Jeongin swallows. 

“And we just kept talking, one thing led to another, and… I guess along the way, I- no, he- no, we  _ both _ fell for each other.”

Jeongin is  _ falling _ .

“Jeonginnie…” Changbin starts out, and Jeongin blinks himself back to reality just in time to see Changbin’s eyes mist over and his lower lip tremble slightly as he inhales to speak. “I  _ love _ him.”

Emptiness. Hollowness. Apathy. But warmth? Something  _ else _ stirring in his chest?

Jeongin does not know how he should feel. 

So he smiles. 

Dons that mask again. Makes himself presentable. 

“Hyung, if you love him and he loves you, then I’m very happy for you.” Jeongin smiles with closed lips, nodding his head slightly towards Changbin. 

_ Falling.  _

Changbin beams so brightly back at Jeongin, the upturn of his lips imbued with such  _ warmth _ that Jeongin is taken aback for half a second. Then-

Is that-

A  _ tear _ , rolling down his hyung’s face?

“That means so much to me, thank you so much, Innie.” There’s so much  _ emotion _ in his voice. So much  _ happiness.  _

_ “Innie,” Changbin says again in that same impassive voice, and Jeongin is suddenly hyper aware of how pitiful his sobs sound. Why can’t he be more like Changbin? Why can’t he control his emotions? Why can’t he stop his damn tears? “Get up. Do you think your enemies will give a single fuck about how tired you are? About how much you’re hurting?” Changbin shakes Jeongin, mouth curled in a snarl as his eyes bore into the younger.  _

Jeongin blinks himself back to reality. Watches as Changbin absentmindedly swipes the tear away with the back of his hand. 

Why does it hurt? Changbin is happy. Jeongin should be happy. Then why is he  _ hurting _ deep inside?

He and Changbin sit in silence for a while, both trapped from within their personal hurricanes. Jeongin doesn’t dare to move, lest he be swept away by the violent winds ripping at him from his bubble of safety in the center. 

Some time passes, the seconds slowly, inevitably lost to the silence of the small apartment. 

“C-can I introduce him to you?” The offer is hesitant, soft,  _ pleading.  _ Its tone stirs something within Jeongin’s chest. He wants to scream, to cry, to do  _ something. _ But he’s been trained too well for that, so he just nods slightly. 

_ Always conceal your emotions. Emotions make you  _ weak _ , make you easy to manipulate.  _

“Yes.” With this, Changbin smiles, quick and fleeting, then he’s standing up. He offers an outstretched hand to Jeongin, who debates for a second, then takes it. 

_ A dark shape drops down in front of Jeongin, landing with a loud thump.  _

_ CRACK! _

_ The gunshot rings through the air, loud and true, and the dark figure and Jeongin  _ take off. 

_ They  _ run.  _ Run for their lives through dark alleyways, Jeongin never more than a foot or two behind the other.  _

_ Jeongin’s heart is in his throat, his lungs feel like they’re being slowly corroded by acid, but he needs to keep moving.  _

_ “I.N.!” The dark figure glances over their shoulder for a quick second. Eyes glint in the darkness. A sharp jawline cuts through the air, partnered with an equally as sharp disposition.  _

_ “Spear B-” Jeongin chokes out, stumbling over a curb as the pair whips around another corner.  _

_ CRACK! _

_ Jeongin’s heart skips another beat, the ear splitting gunshot taking its place. Then it’s  _ off, _ ripping down a dusty racetrack like a purebred racehorse with everything to lose.  _

_ They keep running, and slowly but surely, Jeongin is falling behind. At first, it’s just an extra inch or two between him and Spear B. Then the gap grows to a foot, then two, and Jeongin  _ cannot afford _ to fall behind- _

_ Wide eyes glint in the white light of a passing searchlight.  _

_ A hand is thrust into Jeongin’s vision. Rivulets of blood slice across the pale surface from when its owner had been ambushed by a knife-swinging thug grinning in the shadows earlier.  _

_ “Take my hand!” The command is hissed, shouted, begged, and Jeongin obeys instantly.  _

_ He can’t afford to fall behind.  _

_ Then there’s the firm surety of another hand in his, and Jeongin is yanked forwards as its owner pulls him ahead, ahead, off into the shadows of a dismal alley where they can perhaps be safe.  _

_ Jeongin wheezes again, lungs burning, legs on fire, droplets of blood falling into his vision from a nasty hit from a lead pipe earlier, but he  _ needs to keep running.  _ All he knows is the feel of Changbin’s hand in his, continuously pulling him forward as shadows nip at his heels.  _

_ They keep running.  _

Jeongin blinks and tightens his hold on Changbin’s hand. He’s pulled into a standing position by the other, swaying a bit unsteadily on his feet when he tries to put weight on his bad foot. 

Changbin tightens his hold on Jeongin’s hand, shooting him a quick look, silently inquiring if he’s okay. It’s the same tilt of his head, same small lift of his eyebrows as four years before… but different in a sense. It’s more… prominent. More insightful. More  _ caring,  _ in a way. 

Four years is a long time. 

“Jeonginnie?” The soft call of his name brings Jeongin back to himself. 

_ Shit- _

_ Pay attention to every little detail. What they’re wearing, what their eyes flick to when they mention something, every small twist of their lips at your words, you can’t miss a single thing. Never space out. Never not question anything. Pay. Attention.  _

“Yeah.” Jeongin says softly, releasing Changbin’s hand and letting his own fall back limply to his side. He stares at it for a moment, feels it swing through the air, then looks back up. 

“You ready?” Another small tilt of his head. Jeongin takes a deep breath, albeit surreptitiously. 

“Yes.”

Okay, back to business mode. 

_ Never allow any type of feelings to come into play. They hinder your ability to think, to make rational decisions. No pity, no empathy.  _

Lee Minho. Who would’ve died with a knife handle sticking out of his skull, if not for Changbin. 

He’s most likely not a trained assassin, most likely a close acquaintance of Bang Chan who’s learned to live with the danger through the years. Someone living in this world of bloody betrayals and midnight murders, but not  _ made _ to live in it. 

His biggest tell?

He had frozen. When he had a knife handle quivering an inch in front of his face, someone telling him he was going to die, he  _ froze.  _

_ And above all, never freeze. That’s how you fucking  _ die. 

You never freeze. 

Jeongin’s side aches. 

You never freeze. Everyone knows that. The most logical route to take when having a knife thrown at your head would be to jump backwards and fling one of your own back at the perpetrator. Facts of life. That’s how you stay alive. 

However, Minho had frozen. From fear paralyzing him? From a split second of indecision? From some other emotion, hindering his judgement?

Lee Minho is not someone of Jeongin’s world. 

So, as Changbin had said earlier, Lee Minho is an enigma. Jeongin doesn’t know how he will react to situations, doesn’t know how he processes emotions, and above all, doesn’t know what Changbin is to him. 

Blinking, Jeongin brings himself back to reality in time to catch Changbin narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Innie-“

“I’m ready to meet him.” Spoken calmly, delivered with an equally skeptical narrowing of his eyes. 

A beat of silence passes. Then something drains out of Changbin’s face, visible in how his expression goes slack for a just a moment, almost like he’s… tired? Defeated? But-

No. It’s not pity. Pity has no place in a killer’s heart. 

“Min?” Changbin calls suddenly, breaking eye contact with Jeongin to move to the door. He knocks on it slightly, the faint sound loud as a gunshot in the silent apartment. 

The two knives embedded in the doorframe lie ominously still. Changbin pointedly ignores them. 

“Min-?”

Changbin is almost hit in the nose by the door swinging open. Resisting the urge to outright snort at the other’s disgruntled expression, Jeongin feels his lips twitch into something resembling amusement. 

“Binnie? Is everything okay?” Minho steps lightly into the room, his voice carrying with it poorly disguised frantic worry. Waiting outside must have taken its toll on him, not knowing what had been going on within the room. “Bin-?”

“I’m  _ fine, _ Minho, everything is fine.” Changbin lets out a little laugh at Minho’s protectiveness. 

Jeongin still does not understand this familiar strain of warmth in Changbin’s voice. It’s the same tone he had always used with him in the past. He does not understand-

Minho laughs a little in return, tension draining out of his figure as he quickly embraces Changbin. He steps back after a second or two, and Jeongin catches warmth and relief in his gaze, before it flickers to him. Joy turns sharply to suspicion. Relief gives way to animosity. 

“Who are you?” Spoken harshly, bitter words seeking to rip into Jeongin. However, it’s the same tone that’s been used on Jeongin his whole life, so he really couldn’t give a single fuck. He meets Minho’s cold glare levelly, inclining his head a little. Absentmindedly, he notes that Minho’s upper lip juts out a bit further than his bottom. 

“I.N.” Spoken coolly, soft words seeking to unsettle, to create a thinly veiled, ambiguous warning. 

_ Don’t give many specifics. Let your reputation precede you.  _

“You know-“ - Minho flicks his gaze back to Changbin, who’s tucked into his side - “Changbin?” 

“I do-“

“Oh fuck this, both of you shut up for a hot sec.” Jeongin is interrupted by Changbin’s annoyed snort. He detaches himself from Minho’s side, taking a step back to form a triangle out of the three of them. Rolling his eyes, he levels each of them with a harsh glare. 

“Enough with tip-toeing around each other and all the formalities. Hyung, this is Jeongin, I.N., as you and the rest of the world know him as. I found him half dead in an alley six- wait, no- seven years ago, then I dragged his ass over to my place for various,  _ sympathetic _ , reasons. I trained him for the next three years, then we split ways and he began to build his reputation as Korea’s deadliest assassin.” Changbin gestures towards Jeongin with a vague flick of his hand. Jeongin watches him with tightly pressed lips. 

He’s still falling, deep into the hollow abyss somewhere in the depths of his chest. 

And this,” Changbin throws an arm over Minho’s shoulder, “is Lee Minho, basically adopted brother to Chan-ssi, a soft sweetie under his asshole-like exterior, and the love of my life. I’ve told you how we met -“ - Jeongin nods minutely - “- and we’ve travelled around for the past few years, sticking together and helping Chan-ssi out every once in a while. Which is how we found you - he sent us to monitor you. Which is a pretty shitty move, I agree completely, but he’s a bit paranoid for good reason.” Changbin let’s his arm drop from around Minho’s shoulders, cheeks tinged the slightest pink from his speech. 

Jeongin shifts slightly and blinks, not breaking eye contact with Minho. Who has really large sparkling eyes, like an anime character. 

Silence reins as a dark king, tightening its chokehold on Jeongin’s throat with every passing second. 

Jeongin knows three truths. First, he knows that Changbin will never intentionally hurt him. Thus, even though he’s involved romantically with Minho, the two of them most likely will not betray and murder him if ordered to by Bang Chan. Secondly, he’s just noticed that Minho has  _ Jeongin’s  _ work belt fastened around his own waist, and he’s fucking livid. Lastly, he hates Bang Chan’s guts with a burning passion. 

“Um, so that was basically just to get everything out of the way.” Changbin shifts nervously. “You two are the only two people I truly care about in the world. I’m not asking you to like each other or to pretend to like each other. But I’d rather not have you two snapping at each other’s necks every moment of the day. I gave you rundowns on each other’s basic backstories. Understand where each of you came from, and work with that.” His voice sharpens at the end, displaying a hard edge of steel, non negotiable. 

“... alright.” Jeongin’s voice is soft, and he blinks, shifting his gaze away from Minho. 

“Okay.” Minho also agrees. He shifts as well, and Jeongin’s eyes flit over to track his movements as he throws an arm over Changbin’s shoulder. A small grin spreads lazily over his face, and he slightly inclines his head towards Jeongin. He takes a breath. “Changbinnie trusts you. So I will trust you as well. I hope that you will not do anything to break that trust.”

_ Trust no one.  _

“I will not.” Jeongin agrees. Minho shifts, and the belt fastened around his waist rustles a bit as the pockets shift against each other. Jeongin’s jaw tightens. 

“Um, you two good now?” Changbin pipes up, eyes darting between Jeongin and Minho. Resisting the urge to snort yet again, Jeongin crosses his arms. 

“We should be.” Jeongin gazes coolly at Minho, just aloof enough to not be considered a glare, but just chilly enough to convey his intense distrust and dislike of the other. 

No, Jeongin is not in any way, shape, or form,  _ ‘good’ _ with Minho. For starters, Minho still has Jeongin’s work belt resting comfortably on his hips, and he  _ wants it back _ . 

Minho also feels… wrong. He feels like an intrusion. He feels like an enemy. An infiltrator, someone slick and smooth enough to worm his way close to Jeongin, only to stab him in his back whenever he turns away from him. 

Minho also has his arm around Changbin, Changbin relaxing comfortably in his hold, and Jeongin feels horribly hollow. Horribly  _ alone _ . 

He continues his free fall into the abyss. 

“I’m going to make tea for all of us.” Changbin breaks the silence gently, sliding out from Minho’s hold after narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly at Jeongin. “Please don’t kill each other in my absence.” Minho shoots Jeongin a wry smile. 

“We won’t.” Minho promises sweetly. Jeongin remains silent. But Changbin is apparently still the same Changbin from four years ago, so Jeongin’s silence does not go unnoticed. 

“Innie?”

“Fine.” Jeongin sighs, pouting a little at the older. Just like four years ago. 

Then he remembers where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s with, and slams a neutral expression back down on his face. The childish pout vanishes without a trace, replaced by thin lips curved in a slight frown. 

“Really.” Changbin’s voice is dry as he levels Jeongin with a knowing glare. 

“I won’t kill him.” Jeongin says softly, holding Changbin’s gaze with his own. Internally, he curses himself for his little slip up. 

_ Never show emotion- _

Sometimes, Jeongin is thankful for the little nagging voice in the back of his head. It gives him advice, reminds him what to do in sticky situations. But…

This is  _ Changbin.  _ With his  _ boyfriend _ . Well, he doesn’t know exactly what they label their relationship, but Minho is someone he loves and probably trusts completely with his life. Shouldn’t Jeongin be more relaxed around the two of them? 

_ Refrain from showing attachments to anything, whether those attachments are objects or people.  _

But then again, the voice has saved him on multiple occasions. It’s kept him on his toes, prepared for any betrayals, set-ups, and traps. 

So Jeongin will listen to the voice (for now). 

Changbin scuttles off to the kitchen in search of a kettle for the tea. That leaves Minho and Jeongin back in the living room, the air so tense between them that Jeongin feels like the slightest sound, the slightest movement could make the world snap. 

It’s so  _ tense.  _

Jeongin (understandably) hates it. 

He takes one deep breath, almost struggling against how thick the air has become. Minho doesn’t blink at him, doesn’t move as Jeongin exhales. 

It’s so fucking  _ tense.  _

_ Alright, I’m out of here.  _

Jeongin blinks at Minho, spins on his heel, and beelines it for the door. Only he forgets he’s in a fucking  _ neon pink _ cast, without any crutches. 

_ Thanks, Jinyoung. _

__ The next few moments unfold as if the world is in slow motion, as if Jeongin has suddenly stumbled into a rip in the fabric of time somewhere between the couch and the door. 

And stumble he does. 

His glaringly pink cast comes down on the hardwood floor with a loud thunk, Jeongin’s heart freezing at the sound.

_ Well, shit.  _

The world slows. 

He watches as his leg folds beneath him, his ankle twisting a bit as his weight shifts forward-

Pain spikes like forks of lightning dashing its way up his leg, into his gut, into his chest, then into his head-

He registers a surprised shout from behind him, then a hand on his shoulder, and  _ there’s a fucking hand on his shoulder- _

It’s not a conscious thought or voluntary action, but Jeongin rips himself away with the aid of his momentum from his fall, a snarl tearing itself free of him as the ground looms closer and closer. There’s a wave of darkness threatening to drag him under somewhere. The edges of his vision tinge black, and he swears that he can feel the same darkness swamping his brain, shutting down all of his systems as he  _ falls. _

The last thing he sees before unconsciousness swallows him are a pair of eyes, large, deep, and widened in hurt and worry. 

Jeongin is  _ falling _ .

He has been for the last four years. 

There’s a sharp crack, then blissful silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> .................
> 
> Again, I'm sorry this took me forever to write. Which leads me into an important notice; I may not be able to update for the next few months. I will try to get an update in before summer comes, but I just don't know. I tend to get writer's block for months at a time, then get really inspired for a whole month straight, but then fall back into another slump. Plus I've got a lot of important exams coming up this month, and the next, and my AP exams in May. *screams and cries in school* 
> 
> But really, writing this fic is something that helps me destress, so it's nothing that I'm forcing myself to write! I'll write when I have time, and I'll leave it alone when I need to otherwise study or do homework. I hope you guys will understand this :)
> 
> ANALYSIS TIME WOOOO!!!! Minbin are adorable eihvirhfhbvd look they literally met in a cliché coffee shop au jhdbvkejn *coos at them* I'm sorry Jeongin but woot! Those are a lot of inner conflicts and distrust! Woo! I'm so sorry! But this sets up a whole really interesting character arc, hehe >:))))
> 
> I also have like ten other WIPS that I gave up on halfway through, but I may publish one or two and just leave it on a cliffhanger until I get the rest done; is that a good idea? Please leave advice in the comments owjefeiwhfejf
> 
> Speaking of comments, every time I get a comment or a comment reply from anyone in this lovely community, it really does make my day. So don't be shy! Leave a comment! I love screaming about my chapter with you guys! Feed me serotonin lol
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter (even though it took me ages to write T^T. Until next time, have a wonderful day, and let's have a great 2021!
> 
> Feel free to scream at me in the comments, and kudos are much appreciated!! :D <333


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